The Road Not Taken
by Soledad
Summary: With his genius, Dr. Spencer Reid could have chosen a number of various professions. What if he he’d chosen to leave the FBI after several years of work with the BAU? x-over with Stargate: Atlantis
1. Chapter 1

**The Road Not Taken**

**by Soledad**

**Disclaimer:** The characters and settings in this series belong to The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and Showtime. Only a couple of original characters belong to me.

**Rating:** Teens, just to be safe.

**Genre**: Stargate: Atlantis/Criminal Minds crossover.

**Timeline:** Early Season 4 in Criminal Minds. Set after "Memorial" Early Season 2 for Stargate: Atlantis, set after "The Siege, Part 3", with General O'Neill still in charge of the SGC.

**Summary: **With his genius, Dr. Spencer Reid could have chosen a number of various profesions. What if he he'd chosen to leave the FBI after several years of work with the BAU? What if a secret project had found a place for him where he could put both his scientific mind and his profiler training to excellent use?

**Warning:** I see the SGA characters a little differently than most people. If you don't like my point of view, it's your right, and I have no problem with it. You should give me the courtesy of respecting my opinion about them the same way, though. So, if you like Sheppard and Weir but don't like Kavanagh, please do us both the favour and hit the Back button now. If you chose to read the story anyway, don't make me responsibe for your hurt feelings. You've been properly warned, haven't you?

**Author's notes to this story:**

Unlike my other Atlantis stories, this one is more or less a canon one. Meaning that it's not part either of my "Moments of Joy" or "Darkroom" alternate universes. However, some aspects remain the same as in all my other Atlantis stories: like the Athosian's custom to live in clan marriages, or Kavanagh's personal background. Also, I used the version in which Zelenka is married to the Athosian woman Marta in this one.

Several Stargate SG-1 characters have a cameo appearance, due to the fact that the story starts back on Earth during the time in which the command staff of Atlantis was back, too. The only characters from a different universe are the members of the BAU-team.

I messed up the timeline of the two universes a little to make those events happen at about the same time. But this is the only AU element of this story.

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Part 01

"What do you mean we can't go home just yet?" Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan, a handsome black man in his mid-thirties, demanded angrily. "The road trip will take forever as it is!"

They were sitting in the office provided them at the _Operations Support Bureau_ of the Colorado Springs Police Department, in Colorado Springs, Virginia, having just closed their latest case… a rather unusual one.

It had started with random shootings at bus stops and other public places. The victims seemed to have nothing in common… absolutely nothing. Some had been young, some old; males _and_ females, from every possible social environment. Some had been Asian, some of African-American origins, some Caucasian. There had ever been two European tourists among them, from different countries across the old continent, who had never met before… and a Navajo businessman who had come from New Mexico for a business meeting.

It just had not made any sense. At first, they had suspected another terrorist cell behind the events – after their recent experiences in New York, that had been a logical assumption. But as Reid pointed out, terrorists would have chosen more crowded places, to spread fear and to show that they could always stay a step ahead of the police. _This_ unsub had seemed to kill randomly, whenever something provoked him. Her. Them. Whatever.

It had been Garcia who first noticed the similarities between these killings and the Michael Douglas movie, "Falling Down". The possibility of all this being the consequences of a basically harmless person being stressed beyond endurance had inclined the team to rework the profile drastically, even though the local detectives _had_ found the idea ridiculous.

Nonetheless, Garcia's instinct had proved right. The unsub _had_ been a simple, middle-aged school teacher, with a mild allergy to cigarette smoke. After thirty-four years of responsible work and peaceful existence, she had finally snapped under the pressure and began to shoot at people who blew smoke into her face in public areas.

Just like that. It had really been that simple. Not a terrorist, not a psychopath, not a perverted monster – just a very ordinary person pressed too hard and no longer able to deal with the pressure.

It only made the whole issue the more depressing. That basically normal, likeable people could turn into remorseless killers, just because they had been pressed too hard.

"I couldn't take it any longer," she had said simply during her investigation. "I had to _do_ something. Those people were killing me, poisoning me piece by piece. I had to defend myself somehow; nobody ever defended _me_."

She had not denied anything. She had not regretted anything. Somewhere along her way, she had become completely indifferent towards right and wrong. All she had wanted was a little peace. It seemed frightening that she'd had to kill eighteen people to achieve _that_.

It was no wonder that Morgan wanted to be done with the whole case and forget it as soon as possible. That was what all of them wanted. Cases like this one were even more depressing than the worst atrocities caused by evil, mad, pervert criminals… because they involved basically good people who had turned into monsters for perfectly acceptable reasons.

Their most recent unsub had not wanted to be bothered by cigarette smoke. That was an acceptable demand in itself – why should she have put up with the annoyance, with the rudeness of smokers who did not care whether she wanted to inhale their smoke or not? The truly depressing part was that she had not seen any other way to be spared the annoyance than to kill the offenders.

Something was seriously wrong with today's society when people came to such conclusions.

Morgan wasn't the only one who got very angry when Hotch told them that they had to stay in Colorado Springs for another two days, until all the paperwork was done. There was nothing that they could do about it, though. This was an unusual case, probably a new problem that might become more frequent in the future, so it needed to be thoroughly documented.

This mostly affected Hotch, Reid and Garcia (at her computers, back in Quantico), but as they had all come with the same car, the others had to stay as well, unless they wanted to take the bus. They had informed Rossi and Prentiss, who had been called away in a different case, and settled down to sit out the time needed to finish this one.

Reid considered himself lucky – at least he had something to _do_, working on statistical probabilities of similar cases happening again and locating the most likely type of environment that could lead to them. He was working with one of the local detectives _and_ Garcia via the internet, while Hotch helped out with the final interviewing of the witnesses. In eighteen cases, that meant a lot of people, and after a while even Morgan got drafted to share the burden – not that he would mind. It made time pass a lot faster.

They were all ready for today's lunch break, and Reid was relieved to turn away from the computer screen for a while. His eyes were burning, and he felt as if he hadn't had a cup of coffee for ages – although it had only been an hour or so.

Books were definitely easier, both on the eyes and on the mind, but computers were more efficient. He'd long accepted that fact. Just as contacts were more practical than glasses… even though he preferred glasses, personally, and still used them at home. Granted, they had the annoying habit to get dirty every twenty minutes, but still…

He was so deep in thought that he walked straight into someone – most likely one of the witnesses – when leaving the office. As usual when this happened (and it _did_ happen to him a lot) he blushed beet red and began apologizing profoundly.

"It doesn't matter, really," the person he'd run into answered in a friendly manner. "I should have paid more attention myself."

Reid finally looked at the tall, handsome young man… and frowned. He found the guy vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite remember where from. Having an eidetic memory was one thing – but the human brain had the self-preserving tendency to put insignificant stuff out of focus.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" he asked.

The young man nodded. "I think so, Dr. Reid. You used to be in my brother's research group at CalTech," he proffered his hand. "I'm Dion Kavanagh. We met a few times when I visited my brother at the university."

The name finally did ring a bell. Reid now could remember the lanky, long-haired young scientist from the research group of Stokesian dynamics. _Calvin_ Kavanagh had been a brilliant, arrogant, often impatient man whose promising career had been seriously hampered by the fact that two small children depended on him. And not just financially, like it was with many divorced fathers. Reid vaguely remembered that Kavanagh raised his kids alone, with the help of his sister, after a long and ugly courtroom fight with his ex-wife. Which raised the question…

"What are you doing in Colorado Springs?" Reid asked. "Last time I heard from your brother you all were living in Pasadena."

"That was two years ago," the younger Kavanagh brother said. "We've moved here when Calvin accepted a researcher job from the Air Force. I've graduated in the meantime, too, and am now working as a physical therapist in the Air Force Hospital. That's how I got into your case; one of the victims was my patient."

"I see," Reid hesitated for a moment, then asked anyway. "How's Dr. Kavanagh doing?"

The brother of the man in question shrugged. "I'm not really sure," he admitted, a little uncomfortably. "I never understood much about his work, and most of what he's doing is confidential, so he's stopped speaking about his job entirely. But it's very different from what's done for CalTech."

"Oh?" Reid wondered. "How so?"

"Well, for starters, he goes to other places a lot – field trips he calls them," Dion Kavanagh explained, "and we never know how long he'll be gone. Last time he was away for about a year. We had no idea where, we hadn't had any contact and all we were told was that he might not come back again at all. It was a hard time for us all, especially for the kids."

"But he did come back, didn't he?" Reid asked, his mind whirling with possibilities. What in hell had Kavanagh gotten himself into?

Dion Kavanagh nodded. "He did – with a concussion, several broken ribs and a severe case of PTDS. And we still don't know what's happened to him. I don't think we'll ever be told, either."

"That's odd," Reid murmured. "I never imagined Dr. Kavanagh to be involved in weapons research."

"He's _not_!" Dion replied sharply. "That was the only thing he told us about his job. His speciality is satellite micropropulsion systems, and that's what he's working on… wherever he does it."

"Last time I read a publication by him, he was researching liquid crystals," Reid corrected. "That kind of research can be used for a great variety of purposes. He might not have a say in the matter what his research will be used for, in the end."

"He'd have quit in that case!" Dion Kavanagh said vehemently.

Reid shook his head. "They might not _allow_ him to quit. When someone is too deep into some secret project, they won't always let him leave just like that. There are too big risks involved."

Dion Kavanagh shot him a baleful look. "If you don't believe _me_, you should ask Calvin himself. He lies in the Air Force Hospital – and is bored out of his head."

"Perhaps I will," Reid said thoughtfully.

* * *

He excused himself for a couple of hours in the early afternoon and drove to the Air Force Academy Hospital on the Pinion Drive. He parked his rental car in the visitors' parking lot and went to the information desk to find his former colleague.

The strong, familiar scent of medicines and disinfectants bit his nose as soon as he entered. It called back unpleasant memories; of the time they had been sitting on the floor, waiting for news about Elle, fearing for her survival. Of the times when he had to be in there, having taken care of the injuries suffered during the one or other case. He really hated hospitals, but sometimes you couldn't avoid going there, for various reasons.

What he hated even more than hospitals themselves was the often irrational behaviour of hospital personnel towards visitors. Like that of the uniformed orderly beyond the information desk, who – instead of simply telling him where he would find Kavanagh's sick room – kept asking questions about _him_. Who he was. Where he'd heard about Dr. Kavanagh being treated here. Where did he know Dr. Kavanagh from, and what did he want from the man anyway.

For a while, Reid answered patiently, even though he didn't understand why all these questions were necessary. Granted, Kavanagh _did_ work for the Air Force now, on some secret project, but certainly, that wasn't reason enough not to allow people to visit him in the hospital, was it?

Finally, the young agent had enough. He pulled out his badge and laid it onto the desk between them.

"Look, Master Sergeant," he said with forced patience. "I don't know what your problem is, but I seriously doubt that visiting a college friend, even if he is now working for your boss, requires to go through the special investigations of the Holy Inquisition. So, you either tell me _now_ where I can find Dr. Kavanagh, or I'll make a few phone calls that will make your life hell for the next year or so."

The sergeant gave his badge a baleful look. "You're not big enough to cause me any problems, boy," he scowled.

"Maybe not," Reid agreed amiably. "But my boss most certainly is. He used to be a prosecutor and knows very well which buttons to push, even if we belong to different organizations."

"That won't be necessary, Special Agent…" the pleasant female voice trailed off in askance behind his back.

Reid turned around and was standing face-to-face with a lovely, russet-haired, blue-eyed woman in a white lab coat and a stethoscope around her neck.

"Dr. Reid," he supplied," from he Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. We are working on a case with the local police department here. I heard that Dr. Kavanagh is bed-ridden and bored, and thought I'd visit since I'm here already."

"Dr. Alisen Brightman," the lady doctor introduced herself. "You must forgive the Master Sergeant; he has his orders. Some of our patients have gotten back from rather… sensitive missions. Anyone outside from their immediate family needs special clearance to visit them."

"And Dr. Kavanagh is one of those cases?" Reid asked in surprise. "I'm sure his brother would have warned me if…"

"Oh, so it was Dion who told you he's here?" the doctor's face brightened a little. "Well, in that case I think we can make an exception. Give me a moment to ask my boss, but I don't think there would be a problem."

She vanished behind one of the unmarked doors – presumably in a security office – and returned only a few minutes later, smiling broadly.

"Well, that's settled," she said. "You can go in… I'd ask you, though, not to discuss with Dr. Kavanagh his recent mission. It's classified. As an FBI agent, I'm sure you understand what that means."

Reid shrugged. "Of course. I'm not trying to spy, doctor. I just want to see him, since neither of us can know when we get another chance like this. _My_ working hours aren't exactly regular, either."

"Good," she said, still smiling. "I'm sure Dr. Kavanagh will be glad to see you. Colonel Dixon," she called out to called out to a big, hard-faced man with a buzz cut and pale, almost water-blue eyes, "would you mind to show Dr. Reid the way to Dr. Kavanagh's room?"

The man – he was wearing a pair of washed-out jeans and a blue shirt that matched his eyes – turned around and gave Reid a piercing look. He seemed like someone who was used to people snapping at attention in his presence… and quaking in their boots under the weight of his stare.

Reid stared back at him, not the least intimidated. Colonel Dixon might be the terror of the lower ranks, but he was nothing compared with the diverse psychopaths, serial killers and bloodthirsty madmen Reid had to face on a regular basis.

"Sure," the colonel finally said in a slow, pleasant voice. "There's only so much scientific babble I can take on my own. Moral support would be welcome. Are you a scientist, too, Dr. Reid?"

Reid shrugged. "Not a practicing one. I do have the degrees, but I'm with the FBI, in Quantico."

"I see," those water-blue eyes seized him up expertly, assessing his most likely abilities. "Profiler, right?"

Reid nodded. "Basically, yes. We do a lot of field work, too, though."

It was a colonel's turn to shrug. "You don't have to explain me anything, doc. I don't judge people by their gun qualifications; although, as an FBI agent, I assume you have to qualify yourself regularly. I don't have a phobia towards scientists, either, as my resident geeks would tell you. No, not that floor… the next one. Kavanagh's in room 321."

"Is he one of _your_ resident geeks?" Reid asked as he followed the instructions.

Dion shook his head. "Not anymore; a fact I still regret. I liked working with him; he's got a very… well-organized way to do things."

"I remember," Reid smiled. "It used to drive the others in our research group nuts. They called him Mr. Anal Retentive."

"You were together at CalTech?" Dixon frowned. "You seem awfully young for that."

"I _was_ awfully young back then," Reid said matter-of-factly. "Barely past sixteen when I first graduated; and certainly the youngest in the group."

"_Sixteen_?" Dixon shook his head in amazement. "How did you manage _that_?"

"It's not as complicated as people seem to believe," Reid answered with a shrug. "Once you've taught one part of your brain to concentrate – to focus – it frees up energy in another part of your brain, which can give you a certain lucidity. Time begins to stand still… relatively, of course."

"And how did you deal with the older classmates?" Dixon asked. "My oldest is just this side of twelve, and is glared at like he was some sort of mutant all the time, because he's already in high school."

"I _finished_ high school at the age of twelve," Reid replied, "but it wasn't always easy… _or_ pleasant."

Dixon nodded in understanding. "Yeah, I can imagine. I often wish Noah had inherited my bulk, instead of his mother's fragile build. Being too young, too smart _and_ scrawny is a lethal combination. I have to put up regular appearances at his school, in full uniform, and look threatening all the time, so that the bullies would leave him alone."

Reid swallowed, the causal remark of the colonel reopening old, barely healed wounds.

"Your son is fortunate," he said quietly. "I wish I had a father who'd have gone such lengths to keep me safe."

That earned him a quick, compassionate glance. "Yours didn't? How so? Me, I can't stop worrying about my kids – I've got four, you know – lying awake all night and praying they won't get hooked up on drugs eventually, or worse, wind up dead in an alley somewhere."

Reid winced. The 'hooked up on drugs' remark hit a bit too close to home.

"Well, _my_ dad decided that I was too much trouble to deal with and left us when I was twelve," he said bitterly. "That means me and a psychotic mother with a split personality disorder who couldn't make a difference between reality and her own strange world."

He stopped, mortified by the ease he had spilled out his heart to a complete stranger. It was not his wont; but the recent reunion with said father had shaken him badly. To learn that the man had lived in his close neighbourhood all those years but never had the decency – or the balls – to contact him was almost too much to bear.

To his credit, Colonel Dixon let his sudden outburst of honesty slip, without any commonplace comment.

"Some people should not be allowed to have kids," was all he said before ushering Reid into Dr. Kavanagh's sick room.

One had to admit that the long-haired scientist offered a rather… colourful sight, with his bruised face – one eye was still more or less swollen shut, although the bruises had already begun to change colour, from blue and black towards purple and yellow. His naked torso was wrapped with bandages, presumably o fix his broken ribs, and he wasn't wearing his glasses, which was more shocking than him being probably naked under the hospital-issue blanket.

Calvin Kavanagh had always been a very fastidious man, who'd never had let anyone see him less than correctly dressed. It must have been a leftover from his childhood. He was the son of a very strict, very conservative priest, with strong opinions about what was appropriate and what was not. Plus, not wearing his glasses would make him vulnerable, and he hated _that_ feeling more than anything else.

Colonel Dixon, however, didn't seem to be shocked by the man's dishevelled state. He probably had seen worse, if – what was likely – he was going on Covert Ops missions. Although how _Kavanagh_ had gotten himself into such things was still a mystery.

"Hey, doc," the colonel said cheerfully. "All alone and bored again, I see. Well, cheer up! I've brought a visitor who'll probably understand what you're talking about, even if you get all mathematical on him."

With that, he waved and left them alone.

Kavanagh opened his one good eye to see who'd come. Said good eye, while also myopic, recognized Reid – and widened in surprise.

"Spencer Reid," he said in a somewhat croaked voice. "What are _you_ doing here? I thought you were with the FBI!"

"I am," Reid took the chair standing next to the be. "Actually, we've just wrapped a fairly bizarre case here, in Colorado Springs. I ran into Dion; he said that you could use company."

"What I could use is my laptop," Kavanagh scowled, "but the frigging doctors won't allow me to work in bed. _You must build up your strength first, Dr. Kavanagh!_ They say. _You need to rest and recover!_ How am I supposed to get my backlog of work done if I'm not even allowed to read? It's ridiculous!"

"Not if you feel half as bad as you look right now," Reid retorted. "Besides, without your lasses, you won't be able to see the screen anyway. Remember, I used to work with you. I know you're quite short-sighted… physically, I mean."

"Speaking of which: what happened to _your_ glasses?" Kavanagh asked. "If I remember correctly, your eyesight is even worse than mine."

"I switched to contacts," Reid explained, "at least when I'm working. They are more practical than glasses."

"I dunno," Kavanagh said doubtfully. "They're a bloody nuisance. We tried them for Liam, but he couldn't get used to them."

Liam was Kavanagh's older son, around nine or ten, most likely. Reid could remember a fragile, way too serious child, with dark blond curls, big blue eyes and glasses. The boy had been quiet, intelligent, precocious – but deeply wounded by the disastrous outcome of his parents' marriage; abducted by his own mother who could not deal with the demands of having a mentally disabled younger child. Kavanagh had just gotten him back at the time Reid had met the boy.

"How's Liam doing?" he asked. He'd found the kid very likeable and felt for him. Nobody should go through such things, especially not at such a young age.

"Surprisingly well," Kavanagh said, smiling a little. "We found a school where he could be with kids his own age but is given extra courses that will help his intellect forward at the pace he needs. And Tommy can have special care in the same place. We've been lucky."

Tommy, Kavanagh's younger son, was suffering from the Fragile X syndrome, meaning that he wouldn't be able to learn at the same speed as other kids and probably never develop beyond the mental abilities of a six-year-old. Having two children with so diagonally opposite abilities would have been a strain on every family; it was even more so for a single parent. Reid greatly respected Kavanagh for the heroic efforts the scientist made to ensure his sons could lead a normal life… as far as it was possible for them.

"It still surprises me that you've accepted a job from the military," he said. "You were so adamantly against doing weapons research…"

Kavanagh didn't answer at once; as if he were considering how much he was allowed – or willing – to reveal.

"I'm not doing weapons research," he finally said. "Look, I'm not allowed to talk about this, but… let's just say that I believe in what I'm doing right now, despite some of to _people_ I have to work with. It's important work; and interesting, too."

"But it keeps you away from your family; at least that's what Dion said," Reid pointed out.

Kavanagh shrugged.

"Yeah, that's true, and I'm not happy about _that_ aspect of the job, but… it has to be. Besides," he added with a crooked smile," they pay me well, and we desperately need the money. Both boys need special care, which is not cheap, Siobhan stopped working to be with them all the time, which is very good for them, but it means we've lost one income, no matter how lousy it was. And Patrick doesn't make lots of cash, either. He's a good construction worker, but there's just not enough work in these days. Plus, I still have to support Dion. He can eke out a living, but it isn't enough to pay back his student's loans, too. This way, at least we aren't broke all the time like we used to be."

Reid remembered the financial disaster Kavanagh had constantly been fighting during their shared years as young researchers and nodded. He couldn't blame the man for wanting a way out of _that_, especially with a large family depending on him. Besides, who was _he_ to judge Kavanagh? He carried a weapon ad had killed two men during his years with the FBI. Granted, they had been crazed and dangerous and wouldn't have hesitated to kill _him_ – and Hotch – had he not acted faster, but still…

"Well, you may not be _broke_, but you're definitely _broken_ in several places," he jested.

Kavanagh laughed – and winced in pain immediately.

"Ouch!" he complained. "Don't make me laugh! My ribs can't take it."

"Sorry," Reid apologized. "I just never thought a scientific career would be so dangerous. If you set the dangers of academic intrigues aside, that is. Perhaps I really made the better choice going to the FBI, after all."

Kavanagh snorted. "That was a criminal waste of resources, if you ask me. One doesn't need genius-level intelligence to shoot at petty criminals… or even not so petty ones. I've read your dissertation about identifying non-obvious relationship factors using cluster weighted modelling and geographic regression… it is beyond brilliant. Even after all those years, nobody has come closer to the solution; and I've met a _lot_ of _very_ bright people in the recent years."

Reid did not react to Kavanagh's remark, because it had an uncomfortable amount of truth. He _had_ felt wasted and intellectually unchallenged lately, and with JJ leaving the team and his mother losing any ties to reality with an increasing speed, he'd begun to ask himself whether he shouldn't think about a career change. He would hate to leave the team, but there was no arguing with the fact that he was stagnating there. Even if he managed to gain his third BA – and there was little chance that he wouldn't – how would that bring him forward if he wasn't using it… just like his other five degrees?

"Speaking of publications," he said, changing the topic, "I haven't seen any new papers from you since you've successfully defended your second dissertation about fluid mechanics and transport processes by complex and multiphasic fluids. I thought you'd be working on your third doctorate by now."

Kavanagh shrugged again. "I am. You just won't get the chance to read my dissertation, most likely. Not in the next couple of decades, that is. Perhaps not even later."

"I see," Reid nodded. "Confidential research."

"I can't tell you even that much," Kavanagh replied, "but I'm sure you'll be able to find the answer on your own. You've always been exceptionally bright, after all."

"I don't think I _need_ any specific answer," Reid smiled. "All right, let's talk about something you _are_ allowed to speak of. Have you ever continued your research concerning liquid crystals? That was a promising theory to create new, cleaner fuel for microsatellites, if I'm not mistaken. Did it work out in practice?"

"Yes and no," Kavanagh said. "It has its promises, but Dr. Petersen and I run into certain problems when it came to storage and such things."

"You mean Dr. _Willem_ Petersen?" Reid clarified. "That Danish scientist who specified in the possible uses of advanced microfabrication technologies in the constructing of optical, magnetic and micro-fluidic nanostructures?"

Kavanagh nodded. "So you did know him?"

"To say that would be an exaggeration," Reid answered. "I followed his lectures and papers on the internet; they were absolutely brilliant," he stopped, suddenly suspicious. "What do you mean I _did_ know him? Has something happened to him?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you _that_, either," Kavanagh said grimly.

Not that he needed to, really. Reid wasn't declared a genius for nothing. But he also understand that he couldn't grill Kavanagh about that topic, either, unless he wanted to land them both in _really_ deep trouble. So he switched back to the topic of scientific research, as it seemed the only harmless one, and soon they were excitedly discussing Reid's original theory about cluster weighted modelling and its possible uses by the identifying of non-obvious relationship factors.

* * *

Master Sergeant Ploughman, the man behind the information desk, had never waited for his relief quite this impatiently. He'd been placed there to filter out suspicious visitors and to report potential security risks to his superiors, who would then now what to do with said risks.

This Reid character was definitely one of those suspicious visitors. The security camera had filmed his behaviour upon arrival, and Ploughman had managed to make a magnified stand from his badge. It seemed genuine enough, but it never harmed to do a thorough background check on any suspects… and this little punk was definitely one who needed to be checked. However, to check out the background of a high-ranking FBI profiler, Ploughman needed someone with a much higher security clearance than his own.

When his relief finally arrived, he jogged over to the security office. Choosing the phone with the secured line – the one that connected him directly with the Pentagon – he grabbed the receiver and pushed the button.

"This is Master Sergeant J. Ploughman from the Air Force Academy Hospital in Colorado Springs, Virginia," he barked. "Give me Major Davis, _now_!"

~TBC~


	2. Chapter 2

**The Road Not Taken**

**by Soledad**

**Disclaimer:** The characters and settings in this series belong to The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and Showtime. Only a couple of original characters belong to me.

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Part 02

General Jack O'Neill, currently in command of the SGC, was not in a particularly good mood. In fact, "royally pissed" would probably have described his feelings more precisely. The endless debriefings with the leaders of the Atlantis Expedition – especially in the presence of one Richard Woolsey, who seemed awfully eager to investigate every single complaint on Dr. Kavanagh's long, long list of complaints – were getting on his nerves. He could already feel the mother of all headaches breeding together within his skull.

He was in a somewhat… uncomfortable position. On the one hand, he liked both Dr. Weir and Major Sheppard, and knew that sometimes being in charge meant to make dubious decisions. On the other hand, he'd known Dr. Kavanagh for years and knew that – despite his abrasive nature – the scientist would never accuse the expedition leaders without a very good reason. And some of Dr. Weir's actions did seem… _questionable_ at best.

Of course, the constant squabbling between Carter and McKay didn't make things easier. The two of them were meant to choose new members for Atlantis' scientific community, as a shockingly great number of them had been killed. Unfortunately, all candidates who were suggested (and had gotten through the very detailed security check) were declared as idiots, imbeciles or morons by McKay, whose collective IQs, in his opinion, wouldn't make out a two-digit number. And the ones McKay would have found acceptable from a purely scientific point of view happened to be potential security risks, so that the Pentagon wouldn't allow them to be even _considered_ as possible expedition members.

It was a no-win situation on all sides, including the military investigation concerning the death of Colonel Sumner and Major Sheppard's role in it. For his part, O'Neill would have done the same, but there were other actions from Sheppard's side that he could _not_ condone – yet he had to, because at the same time Sheppard, with his extraordinarily strong natural ATA gene, was _needed_ in Atlantis... even if some of his actions were abysmally stupid. Like his entire behaviour during the alien nanovirus crisis.

No, these were _not_ the sorts of situation Jack O'Neill liked to deal with. So he was positively relieved when the phone rung. _Any_ distraction was welcome – or so he thought. He changed his mind at once, though, when he realized that Major Davis was on the other end of the connection. A phone call from Paul Davis _always_ meant trouble, even though the man himself was a fine officer.

"General," the major said in that grave voice reserved for moderate crisises, "we have a problem."

* * *

"So, who exactly _is_ this Spencer Reid character?" O'Neill demanded, staring at the photo of the thin, slightly long-haired young man with vague disgust. The kid looked like those effeminate, anorexic Calvin Klein models, only with a horrible fashion sense. "And where does he know Kavanagh from?"

"They used to be in the same research group at CalTech, after Reid had made his first doctorate and started his post-graduate studies in engineering, some eleven years ago," Davis explained.

O'Neill glared at him as if he'd suddenly grown another head. "_Eleven_ years ago? According to his birth date, this guy is twenty-seven, Davis!"

"He graduated from CalTech at sixteen," Davis said with a shrug. "At the age of twenty-one, he already had three doctorates: in mathematics, engineering and chemistry. In the meantime, he's got two additional BAs – in psychology and sociology – and is working on the third one in philosophy. He's a certified genius."

"Not another one!" O'Neill groaned.

"Oh, he's very different from Dr. McKay," Davis said with a faint smile. "And he isn't currently working as a scientist anyway. For the last six years, he's been a member of the FBI's elite profiler team, the Behavioural Analysis Unit in Quantico."

"That skinny little guy is an FBI agent?" O'Neill asked incredulously. Davis nodded.

"And apparently a very good one. He's known to have talked down several violent or crazed criminals, so that the Feds could arrest them without further bloodshed. In two cases, when talking didn't help, he shot them dead on the spot."

"Hmmm…" O'Neill re-checked the young man's credentials. "A scientist with an astronomical IQ, who's a crack shot _and_ a talented negotiator… You know, he might be the answer of my not-so-recent prayers…. Assuming we can talk him into joining the project."

"We should talk to his boss first," Davis suggested.

* * *

Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner had always been proud of the fact that there were very few things that could really shake him. Having worked as a lawyer, then as a prosecutor and, at one point, even as a SWAT member had prepared him for just about everything, and his years with the BAU only deepened his experience. Still, when the call from the Pentagon came, he was as shocked as he hadn't been since Haley had filed the divorce papers.

In hindsight, he probably shouldn't have been. It was only natural that the military would eventually discover Reid. Had the young man worked as a scientist in the recent years, they'd probably have approached him already.

He agreed to meet the liaison officer of the Pentagon, a certain Major Paul Davis, outside the Colorado Springs Police Department building, to discuss the matter with him. Not that he'd have a rat's chance to keep Reid if the military _really_ wanted the young man, of course. But it was nice to be asked his opinion anyway.

He discovered Davis in the small street café at once. The man had made it easy for him, wearing his uniform. He also seemed to be a friendly and intelligent guy. Still, Hotch didn't like the all-too-obvious coincidence that the Air Force would discover Reid's promising abilities at the moment the team set foot in Colorado Springs. It was just too convenient to be believable.

"Actually, it _was_ a coincidence," Davis admitted, stirring his coffee thoughtfully. "Had Dr. Reid not visited one of our scientists in hospital, we'd never have realized how useful he could be for us. Sure, we do keep tab on gifted people, but he never showed any interest in a scientific career, so…" he shrugged.

"Do you always check the background of the people who happen to visit one of your scientists?" Hotch asked.

"No," Davis replied, "Just those who visit scientists working on top secret projects. In some cases, we just can't be too careful. Of course, when we realized that Dr. Reid found our man by running into his brother – literally! – at the Colorado Springs Police Department, we were relieved. Nonetheless, now that we've found him, my superiors would like him to work for us. Let's face it, Special Agent Hotchner, a scientific mind like his is wasted within your agency."

"I wouldn't say _that_," Hotch retorted, a little indignantly. "He does very important work – and he's damn good at it."

Davis nodded. "I don't doubt that. However, while there are quite a few people who could make good profilers, there are only a handful of those who could really make a difference in the scientific sense of the word."

"You want him to work for you as a scientist?" Hotch asked in surprise. "He never did lab work in his life – well, not after his post-grad time anyway. What makes you thing he'd be interested in the first place? Or that he'd be any good, after a seven-year hiatus?"

"We can't know whether he'd be interested or not, of course," Davis admitted," although I do believe that the challenge we're offering is greater than a man like him could resist. As for the question if he's any good – Dr. Kavanagh seems to think so, and he's the most critical and judgemental scientist I've ever met… and believe me, I've met my fair share of geeks since I've been working for this project. That he never worked as a practicing scientist doesn't matter. He'd learned all the theoretical stuff, has an eidetic memory as I've heard and can read awfully fast – he'll catch up soon enough."

"And you, of course, can't tell me what this project is," Hotch said.

It was not a question. Practically all projects where the Pentagon was involved were top secret, due to their importance for national security.

"Afraid not," Davis replied apologetically. "All I can tell you is that we desperately need people with his abilities; and his FBI training makes him even more valuable for the project. _If_ he's willing to sign up, that is."

"Well, about that you'll have to ask _him_," Hotch said. "I don't really understand why you're talking to _me_ in the first place."

"You're his superior, and you've worked with him for almost seven years," Davis answered. "I wanted to make sure that you wouldn't fight us in this matter."

"Do I have a chance to fight the Pentagon?" Hotch asked sarcastically.

"Of course you do," Davis said. "He'd listen to you if you gave him the advice _not_ to accept our offer. We ask you not to do so. I'm sorry I can't tell you any more, but believe me, this is really important. Perhaps the most important thing we've worked on for decades."

"Tell me it's not weapons research," Hotch said. "Tell me you don't want him to build the ultimate bomb for you, and I won't interfere. He couldn't do that. It would break him."

"We know," Davis replied, "and I swear we don't want him to build a doomsday bomb for us. Every idiot can do _that_, if given the blueprints. We need his initiative, his people skills – _and_ his genius. The whole package that makes him the person he is."

"Very well," Hotch said after a long silence, hoping by God that he was not about to make a mistake. "Ask him. But you can only have him as a loan. If he accepts, I'll see that he gets extended leave for the time you need him for this project of yours. After that, if he wants back, he'll be allowed to _come_ back: no arguments, no threats, no blackmail."

The major looked at him with an expression that was half amused, half exasperated – and then nodded. "You've got a deal."

* * *

Reid had enjoyed talking shop with Kavanagh enormously. Despite his demanding job with the BAU, he felt as if most areas of his brain had been starving due to the lack of proper simulation for _years_. So he came back on the next day, and the day after, and they continued their semi-scientific discussion as if they hadn't even stopped since their shared work at CalTech.

Kavanagh seemed to be surprised that he'd achieved degrees in soft sciences, too, but had been more than willing to discuss engineering and mathematical theories with him. When the sister on duty finally threw him out, Reid felt more alive than he had for a long time. Even if the omnipresence of uniformed airmen and officers did make him a little uncomfortable. He'd never been affiliated with the military in any way. The few shared cases with the BAU and the NCIS had been well before his time.

The more surprised was he when – upon leaving Kavanagh's room – he was approached by a slender, dark-haired, sharp-featured man in the uniform of an Air Force major.

"Dr. Reid?" The man had dark, intelligent, intense eyes. "I'm Major Paul Davis. I work for the Pentagon and was wondering if I could have a word with you."

Reid felt panic raising in his chest and tightening his throat.

"The _Pentagon_?" he repeated nervously. 'Have I overstepped my security clearance by visiting an old colleague in hospital or whatnot?"

Davis laughed. It made him look ten years younger.

"On the contrary," he said. "Some people seem to think you're the answer to their recent prayers. They'd like to make you an offer. Your boss had given his permission to this, but you can, of course, check with him if you don't believe me."

Reid blinked in surprise. He knew that the military was always interested in people with extraordinary abilities, and he certainly matched that category. His affiliation with the FBI had kept him under their radar so far, but apparently, those times were over.

"What kind of offer?" he asked. Major Davis shrugged apologetically.

"I'm not allowed to speak about it. They want you to come to the Cheyenne Mountain Complex for a short interview. Don't worry, that wouldn't be binding in any way, just, well, orientation."

Reid considered that for a moment. "When?" he finally asked. He couldn't deny that he was very curious.

"As soon as humanly possible," Davis answered. "It's a matter of some urgency. Do you believe you could get the day off tomorrow?"

Reid shrugged. "I can try," he said. They were almost done, really, which was the reason why he had been able to visit Kavanagh in the afternoons to begin with.

"Excellent," Davis said. "I'll fetch you from your hotel at oh-eight-hundred in the morning. Oh, and I'd get a haircut if I were you. It would make a much better first impression."

* * *

"What do you mean _you've_ found the right person for us?" Dr. Rodney McKay, chief scientist of the Atlantis project, certified genius, and – at least in his own estimate, although there were some people who actually agreed with him – the smartest man in two galaxies, glared at General O'Neill, as if the head of the SGC had lost his mind.

O'Neill, young used to the antics of scientists in general and to McKay's volatile reactions in particular, stared back at him with unshakable calm. Which, of course, was only pouring oil into McKay's fire.

"I've found you a young man with the IQ of a super-genius, with three doctorates and two further degrees, who can read twenty thousand words per minute, has an eidetic memory and seven years of FBI-service under his belt, which means he can fire a gun and actually _hit_ his target," the general declared calmly. "Now, if you can show me anyone who'd be more suitable for Atlantis, I'll let you hire all those untrustworthy geeks you wanted to bring in during the last two weeks."

McKay opened and closed his mouth several times, like a fish out of water, without saying a single word. It was quite funny, actually, and O'Neill had a hard time _not_ to look at Colonel Carter, knowing that she was barely suppressing a giggle of her own and would lose control if he did so.

"What kind of doctorates?" McKay finally asked.

"Mathematics, chemistry and engineering," Carter replied in O'Neill's stead, studying the candidate's personal file. "He'll fill the place of Dr. Kavanagh nicely, I'd say. And if Dr. Kavanagh wants to return to Atlantis after his recovery, I'm sure Dr. Weir can find Dr. Reid another suitable post."

"You said something about two other degrees," McKay said, still not completely won over. "What are those?"

"BAs in psychology and sociology," Carter replied, "and he's working towards another one in philosophy."

"Bah!" McKay snorted. "Soft sciences!"

"Yeah, but they could prove useful during Gate travels, when one has to deal with the indigenous population," Carter pointed out. "You could cut back the field work and spend more time in your lab, Rodney."

That aspect of things made McKay think. He actually liked Gate travel, but always bemoaned the lab time he had to sacrifice in order to be _able_ to go to other planets.

"You know, that's not a bad idea," he said, visibly warming to it. "If someone else did the scouting and getting shot at part, I could save my time for the _really_ important discoveries."

Carter looked at him with almost maternal pride. "I knew you'd eventually come to see it our way, Rodney," she said.

McKay shot her an irritated look. "Ha, ha, very funny," he said with a scowl. "So, when do we get to see this so-called _wunderknabe_?"

"Major Davies is already working on it," O'Neill replied.

* * *

Reid, of course, did inform Hotch about being approached by Air Force officer from the Pentagon. To his surprise, Hotch already seemed to know about it, and admitted that Major Davis had contacted _him_ first.

"You should go and listen to them at least," the unit chief suggested. "If you don't like what they're offering, they can't force you to accept."

"Are you sure?" Reid asked warily. "We're speaking about the military here."

"It's a little early to get all paranoid just yet," Hotch said. "I promise I'll call in some favours if they're pressing too hard. But who knows, perhaps you'll like their offer. I won't stand in your way."

"I'm not planning to leave the team!" Reid protested.

"I know," Hotch said gently; he'd had time to think about the whole issue and began to believe that a change of scenery would actually be good for the younger man. "I understand that we're the only family you have right now. But you've come to us way too young. You've seen too much. I'm worried about you, Reid. I'm afraid you'll burn out sooner or later; just as Gideon has. Just like I'm on the best way to do. Perhaps a change of scenery would do you a great deal of good… even though we're gonna miss you."

"I'm not so sure about that," Reid muttered. "I like it at the BAU."

"And we're lucky to have you," Hotch said. "You're a great asset to the team; Gideon was right about that. But let's face it, you'll never unfold your true potential as a profiler. That incredible mind of yours isn't really challenged by our work. If you wanted to go and do some scientific work for a while, to test your abilities, we'd all understand."

"But what if I won't like it, after all?" Reid asked. "If it turns out that what I've always suspected is true; that I'm not made for lab work?"

"You can always come back," Hotch promised. "I've spoken to Director Mueller personally; it seems that he'd already been briefed about the Pentagon's request from the highest places. He said that if the offer is attractive for you, and you want to try it, you can go on an extended leave; unpaid, for sure, but the military would pay you well enough for the duration, so that won't be a problem. If you try it and don't like it – just come back. Perhaps having a quieter period in your life is going to be helpful with dealing with your recent personal discoveries."

Reid knew Hotch was speaking about the encounter with his father and was thankful that the older man didn't seem to want to discuss the issue openly.

"Well, I guess I can at least go and hear them out," he finally said, albeit a little reluctantly.

Hotch nodded. He'd hate to see Reid leave the team, but the young man needed to seek out other opportunities. Even if he chose to stay with them, in the end.

~TBC~


	3. Chapter 3

**The Road Not Taken**

**by Soledad**

**Disclaimer:** The characters and settings in this series belong to The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and Showtime. Only a couple of original characters belong to me.

**Author's note: **The specifics about wormhole theory are taken from a Wikipedia article from 12 August 2005. I'm no scientist, so I don't have the slightest idea whether they are correct or not. Let's just assume they are.

**

* * *

**

Part 03

Reid had taken Major Davis' advice into consideration and gone to get a haircut on the previous afternoon. He was now standing in front of the mirror in his hotel bathroom and examined his appearance with a critical eye. With shorter – although not entirely short – hair that just reached his collar and was smoothed behind his ears, he looked tidier and a great deal younger than usual. Wearing his best suit – well, his _only_ really good suit, to be honest – with a cream-coloured shirt and a rather conservative dark tie, he looked at least respectable enough to make a good first impression.

The question was – did he really _want_ to make a good first impression? Did he want this job, whatever it was? Had Hotch been right? Did he truly need a change of scenery, to put some distance between himself and the threatening burnout? As Hotch had correctly said, the BAU was his only family. His father had not _wanted_ to be bothered with him, and his mother wasn't _able_ to keep up contact any longer. Where did that leave him?

On the other hand, this was no longer the same team he had started to work with. The loss of Elle, whose ghosts had overwhelmed her – a fact he could understand all too well since his own close brush with death – had been bad enough. He had grown to like Prentiss a great deal, but that still did not mean he wouldn't feel guilty for not being there for Elle when she had needed them most. True, they had always been overwhelmed with work – which was an explanation, but no excuse.

And as much as he respected Rossi, since the departure of Gideon, his mentor and only father figure, he'd felt less comfortable with his team-mates. JJ, the only other person he'd been really close to was gone, too, nobody could tell for how long. Was this truly his family still?

Perhaps Hotch _had_ been right. Perhaps it _was_ time for him to severe the umbilical cord and become a man – a _person_ of his own. He would go and listen to those military types. And if the offer was a good one, a proper challenge for his intelligence, he would accept it. After all, Kavanagh seemed to like working for those people… well, more or less.

Temporary decision made, he looked at his watch. It was time to meet Major Davis.

* * *

There was apparently a lot to say for military efficiency. Five minutes before time, the major, now wearing civilian clothes, was standing next to a simple black Sedan opposite the hotel.

"Good morning, Dr. Reid," he said in his friendly manner. "Ready to face the music?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Reid answered, getting into the car.

The way to the Cheyenne Mountain was long, but that did not bother him too much. His overactive mind always provided him with enough stuff to think about, so he was practically never bored. Thankfully, Davis did not seem to be the man who'd suffer from the mistaken idea that he had to 'entertain' his passenger, no matter what. It was a very pleasant drive.

Finally, they reached the automatic vehicle gate of the base. There were armed sentries at the checkpoint, but that was to be expected. It was one of the most important Air Force bases in the whole country, after all. The sentries seemed calm and attentive, almost a little bored, so it was most likely a fairly normal day for the base. Reid welcomed that fact. Normal was always good.

The lead sentry acknowledged Major Davis' presence with an understated salute and a brief 'sir', apparently recognizing him even out of uniform, paying Reid no attention at all. Davis nodded, and they passed the checkpoint without any questions asked.

At the roof of the cinder-block buildings surrounding the entry that was tucked under the granite overhang of the mountain, other airmen were patrolling. They ignored the visitors with studied indifference, knowing that the checkpoint sentries would have alarmed them, had anything been wrong.

They passed second and third checkpoints, where even Major Davis had to show his ID-card before allowed to pass. The whole thing made Reid increasingly nervous, as it was the sure sign that they were passing security levels that were getting higher at every new turn. What had he gotten himself into?

After passing all checkpoints, the vehicle was parked and they got out. Davis secured the door, and they were headed towards the main facility, walking past more sentries – who were carrying both sidearms and rifles – down a long hallway and into a steel elevator. Davis touched a button labelled "Sublevel Eleven", and the elevator began to sink with them deep into the mountain.

Reid wondered just how deep they were going to go. He'd prepared for the meeting, of course, looking up things on the Internet for quite some time, and found some limited information about Cheyenne Mountain. He'd learned that the center was housed two thousand feet underground and that it was designed to withstand a multi-megaton yield weapon at a range of almost three kilometres. He tried to imagine the design of the complex based on the descriptions, but these depressingly similar corridors didn't tell him whether his imagination was right or wrong.

At Sublevel Eleven they left the elevator and walked down another hallway. Passing a reception desk, Davis asked something from the uniformed airman in a military jargon that Reid did not understand and received a similarly phrased answer.

"We'll have to take another elevator," he then said. "It's a long way down yet."

Reid would have liked to ask _how_ long, but he decided against it, knowing he most likely would not get an answer. So they rode the other elevator in silence, plunging even deeper into the mountain, then left the steel cabin at Sublevel 27 and walked through other halls. Finally, they turned one last corner and confronted one last guard, who exchanged wordless nods with Davis.

Davis knocked on the heavy door.

"Come," someone answered from within in a clipped tone.

Davis opened the door and indicated him to enter. "After you, Dr. Reid."

They came into a well-equipped briefing room, containing a long conference table, an overhead projector and a video-conference setup. There was even an automatic whiteboard, the sort where one had to push a button so that a scanning bar would pass over its surface, transferring every written information to a piece of glossy paper extruding from one side. Apparently, no tax dollars were spared when this place had been built.

Reid looked at the people sitting around the table with interest and received equally curious looks from them… which was understandable. These people didn't know him. All they could see was a somewhat dishevelled young man who didn't really show any sign of his true abilities at first sight. The silver-haired Colonel O'Neill, who had been introduced as the one in charge of "the project', whatever the project was, seemed to have his doubts, but Reid was used to people underestimating him because of his looks.

The haggard-looking woman, Dr. Elizabeth Weir, he remembered as being a diplomat and negotiator of some skill, although it had been awfully quiet around her for about the last year or so. The scholarly man with the glasses was one Dr. Daniel Jackson, the archaeologist who'd caused such a great uproar among Egyptologists with his unorthodox theories about the origins of the pyramids. Reid couldn't even guess what _he_ might be doing here, although, at second thought, Jackson hadn't published anything for at least ten years, either.

There was a pretty blonde woman in military fatigues, introduced as Colonel Samantha Carter, but Reid could remember a _Doctor_ Samantha Carter, a brilliant theoretical astrophysicist, and theorized that the two were perhaps the same person. It would make sense to have her sitting in an interview with a scientist. She was exchanging verbal jabs with a hyperactive man who spoke with a Canadian accent (loudly and a lot) – one Dr. McKay. Reid suspected that this had to be Dr. _Rodney_ McKay, one of the very few people with astronomical IQs like his own. He kept track on those few, out of some kind of twisted solidarity. If he remembered correctly, there had been no news about McKay, either, for at least as long as about Dr. Weir. He doubted that it would be a coincidence.

There was another military man slouching in his seat on McKay's side. He had spiky hair and a somewhat… untidy appearance. Not that he was actually _dirty_ – he was not – but he managed to make the impression of being permanently unkempt. Reid disliked him immediately. He had the look of someone way too sure of himself. Such people often got others into trouble, hurt or killed. That was a statistically proved fact.

All of a sudden, Reid began to doubt that he'd want to work for those people. Or _with_ them. Sure, both Carter and McKay were said to be absolutely brilliant in their field, but the rumours about McKay as a _person_ weren't exactly encouraging.

The obligatory round of introductions done, General O'Neill turned to Reid.

"This will be a short orientation only," he announced. "You'll be debriefed in detail later, by Colonel Carter and the other scientists working here. But before we start anything," he placed an official-looking printout in front of Reid, "you need to sign this."

Used to similar declarations, Reid took his time to read the document to the last footnote. It simply said that he swore not to give any information to anyone about anything he might do, see or hear within the MCOC – only phrased more officially and intimidatingly. Well, that was nothing unusual, not for a top secret project. He fished a pen out of his pocket and signed the thing.

"So, General, would you mind to tell me what this is all about?" he then asked.

O'Neill looked at Colonel Carter. "Carter? This is your area of expertise."

Carter nodded and turned to Reid, smiling. "Dr. Reid, how familiar are you with wormhole theories?"

Reid shrugged. "As familiar as anyone with a scientific degree can be, I suppose."

"Could you be more specific?" Carter pressed.

"Sure, why not?" Reid thought for a moment, seeking for the best definition in his memory. "A wormhole is a hypothetical topological feature of space-time. Fundamentally, it can be seen as a shortcut through space _and_ time. Assuming that space-time can indeed be viewed as a two-dimensional surface, then when folded over, a wormhole bridge would be formed. Consequently, a wormhole would have at least two mouths, which would be connected to a single throat or tube. If the wormhole were traversable, matter could travel from one mouth to the other by passing through the throat. Of course, there's no observational evidence for wormholes, so all this is entirely theoretical. However, space-times containing wormholes are known to be valid solutions in general relativity."

By that point, General O'Neill, Major Sheppard and Dr. Weir had achieved the same blank look Reid's team-mates usually sported when he'd gotten into anything even vaguely scientific, causing Carter and McKay to exchange amused looks. But Reid had already warmed up for the topic and continued on, not caring whether the non-scientists could follow him or not.

"The term _wormhole_ was coined by American theoretical physicist Nicholas Ryan Ballard in 1957," he added, glad to be able to provide actual facts instead just theories. "However, the idea of wormholes had already been theorized in 1921 by German mathematician Hermann Weyl in connection with his analysis of mass in terms of electromagnetic fieldenergy. As John Wheeler writes in his article in the _Annals of Physics_, this analysis forces one to consider situations...where there is a net flux of lines of force through what topologists would call a handle of the multiply-connected space and what physicists might perhaps be excused for more vividly terming a 'wormhole'."(1)

Dr. Weir cleared his throat. "I think we've heard enough to verify that Dr. Reid is suitably well-versed in wormhole theory – for someone who's never done any actual research in that particular field."

"Save from the apparent lack of observational evidence for wormholes," McKay corrected with a smug expression.

Reid frowned. "What do you mean?"

Colonel Carter gave McKay an unfriendly look. "What Rodney means is that we now _do_ have observational evidence for wormholes," she said. "In fact, we've had it for more than ten years by now. Wormhole travel _is_ possible, Dr. Reid, even for living organisms as complex as the human body."

"Impossible," Reid shook his head. "Even if we rise above the level of popular science fiction, we don't have the technology to create a stable wormhole. I might not be a practicing scientist, but I've kept reading all the important papers in the last seven years. We won't reach that level of technology for centuries to come."

"_We_ won't," Colonel Carter agreed. "But we're not the only ones out there."

"Oh, please!" Reid rolled his eyes. "You're not gonna try to make me believe in little grey men who crashed in Roswell in the 1950s, are you? Because I won't buy _that_."

Colonel Carter smiled at him, which, interestingly, made Dr. McKay scowl win displeasure, Reid noticed. Could there be something going on between the two of them? It didn't seem very likely, but one could never know.

"I assure you, Dr. Reid, that his has _nothing_ to do with the hypothetical crash in Roswell and the urban folklore connected to it," Carter said. "I assume you're also familiar with Matt Visger's definition about Lorentzian Wormholes?"

Reid nodded and quoted the definition by heart. "If a Minkowski space-time contains a compact region Ω, and if the topology of Ω is of the form Ω ~ R x Σ, where Σ is a three-manifold of nontrivial topology, whose boundary has topology of the form dΣ ~ S2, and if, furthermore, the hypersurfaces Σ are all spacelike, then the region Ω contains a quasi-permanent intra-universe wormhole."(2)

"Exactly," Carter agreed. "As I'm sure you know, intra-universe wormholes connect one location of a universe to another location of the same universe…"

"… in the same present time – or unpresent," McKay added, blithely ignoring Carter's quelling look.

"Of course," Reid said. "Such a wormhole should be able to connect distant locations in the universe by creating a shortcut through space-time, allowing travel between them that is faster than it would take light to make the same journey through normal space – in theory, at least. Which is why wormholes are considered key factors by future interstellar travel. Also, wormholes are believed to be part of space-time foam as a concept devised by John Wheeler in 1955. Traversable wormholes are a special kind of Lorentzian wormholes, which would – again, in theory – allow a human to travel from one side of the wormhole to the other. Still, while Lorentzian wormholes are not excluded within the framework of general relativity, the physical plausibility of these solutions is uncertain."

"Not as uncertain as you might believe," Dr. Weir said quietly; then she looked at McKay. "What do you think, Rodney?"

"He's good," McKay declared, "at least for someone who doesn't have a clue what he's talking about. Still, I'd take him in Kavanagh's stead in a moment."

"Me, too," the major with the bad bed hair said with a drawl.

O'Neill frowned. "Let's make something very clear, gentlemen. Dr. Kavanagh did good work and won't be replaced by anyone, _unless_ he wants to step back from the project, so the two of you would better get used to the thought to have him around for a great deal longer."

"Neither would I take Dr. Kavanagh's place," Reid declared indignantly. "He's a good scientist – I know that, since I worked with him – _and_ he is a friend."

"I never knew Kavanagh had friends," McKay commented nastily.

Carter shot him an icy look. "I though that were _you_," she returned snidely.

"I any case," General O'Neill intervened before things could turn really ugly, "since Dr. Reid is so well-versed in the theory of wormholes, perhaps we should show him something more… practical. Carter, would you do the honours?"

Colonel Carter grinned, then she pushed a button somewhere under the table and a heavy snap door covering the briefing room's large side window was slowly pulled up, revealing a cavernous chamber beneath them.

It was a huge room indeed. Reid guessed it to be about three stories tall; it was hard to make an educated guess with all those surreal dimensions in the gut of the mountain. With all that concrete and steel that seemed to absorb the light of the lamps in there.

At the end of the cavern, opposite the briefing room window, a huge disk stood, seemingly made of steel and stone. A shallow steel-grid ramp led up to it, both ramp and disk set off from the rest of the room by a wide-painted border of yellow and black stripes, alternating with the KEEP CLEAR warning. The disk seemed to be encircled by two concentric stone circles, divided into sections. Each section was engraved with some unknown symbol that vaguely reminded Reid of simplified drawings of star constellations.

Aside from half a dozen soldiers in flack jackets, the room was empty. Nonetheless, there could be no doubt about the importance of it – and of the device in the middle of it.

Reid stared at the strange construction in amazement. "What is _this_?" he finally asked.

"The gateway to our very own wormhole," Carter replied proudly. "We call it the Stargate. It enables us to travel to other planets – given enough energy, even to other galaxies."

"Other… _galaxies_," Read repeated slowly. "You're trying to fool me, aren't you?"

"Not at all," Carter assured him. I understand that this is a little hard to believe, but…"

"_Hard_ to believe? Try _impossible_," Reid said. "You don't really expect me to buy the idea that this… this ridiculous requisite from a ridiculous B-movie actually builds up a wormhole, through which you can travel to other worlds, do you? I like science fiction as much as anyone else – actually, I like it more than most – but _Wormhole X-Treme_ wasn't really the highlight of the genre, you know. That's why it crashed so spectacularly. No offence, but the idea is too harebrained to even consider."

"I know,' General O'Neill said wryly. "That's exactly what _I used_ to think – until I stepped through the Gate for the first time, that is."

"… and ended up on another planet, covered with frost from molecular decomposition," Carter added, grinning broadly. "It took the Gate time to get back to working normally, after having been dysfunctional for several thousand years."

"Several thousand…" Reid's formidable mind raced through snippets of information he'd picked up here and there, connecting them with the complicated framework of knowledge acquired in his younger years. "That would take us to the time the pyramids were built…" he glanced at Dr. Jackson who'd been listening to the discussion quietly all the time. "That's where _you_ come into the picture, isn't it? Your theories… they proved right, after all, didn't they? The pyramids _were_ built by aliens, right?"

Jackson nodded, somewhat embarrassed. "To serve as landing platforms for their starships, yeah… and as temples. They were – _are_ – a parasitic race, inhabiting human bodies, that liked to be worshipped as gods."

"And they were the ones who built this so-called Stargate, too?" Reid asked, still more than a little sceptically.

Jackson shook his head. "No. Stargate technology was invented by the Ancients – a highly advanced humanoid race originating from Earth. We are the second… the second edition of the human form. When the Ancients went to the stars, to another galaxy, in fact, they sowed the seeds of life on many different planets. That is why we keep running into humanoid cultures all the time."

"That, and the fact that the Goa'uld kept abducting whole tribes and settled them on various worlds of _our_ galaxy to serve them as slaves," Carter added.

Reid blinked in confusion. The whole thing was getting more confusing by the minute. O'Neill seemed to understand it.

"Look," he said, "I know this is a lot to swallow at once… even for someone with your brains. I'm told you're a fast reader – do you think reading a few hundred relevant mission reports would be helpful?"

Reid thought about it; then he nodded. "I think so, yes."

"Cool," O'Neill looked at Dr. Jackson. "Daniel, he's yours for the rest of the day. Show him everything you think would be significant for him to understand what he's getting himself into, should he decide to accept our offer. And save the history lessons, will you? What he needs are the bare facts."

"I thought those report were eyes only," Sheppard drawled.

"They are," O'Neill shrugged. "But we _want_ him on the project, don't we? So he needs to know what this is all about."

* * *

That was an argument that would have been hard to counter, and so Reid spent the entire day in the Cheyenne Mountain – in Dr. Jackson's crowded little office, to be more accurate – studying top secret mission reports.

What he learned from those reports blew him over. It was like stepping into the Twilight Zone, in a sense. Alien parasites, inhabiting human bodies. Earth having fought a secret war with aggressive, practically immortal aliens wearing the names of ancient Egyptian and Greek gods who roamed interstellar space with ships as big as the pyramids.

The "little grey men" of the Roswell myth turning out to be powerful aliens that had watched over Earth for millennia but were now being threatened by little, mechanical, spider-like robots.

An Air Force general – and Carter's father at that – becoming the host for one of the "good" parasites and living now as a symbiotic creature. The US military building spaceships, using alien technology, given them by said little grey men. Hyperspace travel. Human-built ships travelling to other planets… in fact, to other _galaxies_.

"You, too, will travel aboard the _Daedalus_ if you accept the offer," Dr. Jackson said. "Travelling to Atlantis via Stargate consumes too much energy, and the right energy sources aren't easy to come by. That's why the Gate is only used for short data bursts. Intergalactic travel is still done by more _traditional_ means, save from cases of extreme emergency."

Reid shook his head in amusement. "I wouldn't call travelling by spaceship through hyperspace _traditional_, Dr. Jackson."

The archaeologist blinked.

"Perhaps not," he agreed, after a moment of consideration. "Perhaps I've been here too long if I consider all this _normal_. In any case, you'll have to get used to it as well. The trip to Atlantis takes almost three weeks."

Oh, yes. Atlantis. That was a can of worms of its own. A ten-thousand-year-old spaceship of the size of a city (and even _shaped_ like a city), capable of travelling between galaxies… or floating on the surface of the ocean. A spaceborne city, just recently beleaguered by vampiric aliens whom can suck life out of a person through the palm of their hands. The city where the Air Force wanted _him_ to go, to replace one of the too many scientists killed by random energy creatures, nanites, vampiric aliens, hostile humans or natural disasters. And wasn't _that_ an encouraging thought?

"And I used to think _I had_ a risky job," he commented dryly.

Dr. Jackson shrugged. "To be honest, I'd take your place in a moment, but Jack – I mean General O'Neill – wouldn't let me. For some reason he thinks I'm more useful here."

'I can see the reason," Reid tapped the upper folder in the huge pile of files lying in front of him with the tip of a long finger. "According to these, you've been pretty much crucial to the solving of a lot of crisises that occurred here… or off-planet, for that matter. Although I don't doubt that Atlantis could use someone of your… versatility as well."

"That's why they want _you_," Jackson pointed out. "Finding talented scientists in _one_ field is easy. Finding talented scientists with people skills is a lot harder. Finding talented scientists with people skills who can fire a gun and even hit their target is almost impossible. With your degrees in soft sciences, you could serve as a negotiator on any off-world team very nicely. Are you not interested at all?"

"I dunno," Reid admitted. "I'll have to think about this, Dr. Jackson. It's… it's too much like Star Trek for my taste."

"I thought you _liked_ Star Trek," Jackson said. They had discovered their mutual love for said sci-fi icon hours earlier.

"I do," Reid answered, "mostly because it's firmly established as a product of pure fantasy. It suddenly becoming reality makes me… uncomfortable."

Jackson gave him one of those nervous little smiles he seemed so prone to.

"Believe me, I know how you fell," he said. "For an Egyptologist, it wasn't easy to face Ra all of a sudden either. Or Apophis. Hell, Osiris even selected my college sweetheart as his new host. But denying the existence of such things won't make them any less real. Whether we want it or not, they're _there_, and we have to deal with them, if we want to keep existing as a species."

"I understand that… on a purely theoretical level," Reid said. "I… I just think it's one size too big for me, personally, to deal with."

Jackson nodded. "It can be overwhelming at times, that's true. We've grown so used to the magnitude here in the last decade that we tend to forget what it must be like for someone who's just heard about the whole thing for the first time."

"Exactly," Reid agreed. "it seems so far above my usual league…"

"But definitely not beyond your potential," Jackson said. "I think you should talk to your friend, Dr. Kavanagh again, now that you know what he's truly doing. Perhaps he can help you to come to a decision."

* * *

"I don't want that puny kid on my team," Colonel Sheppard declared forcefully. "He's still green behind the ears, he's weak and he never set a foot on another planet. It's bad enough we've lost Ford. I don't want to lose McKay as well. We're a man short as it is."

"I'm afraid that's not up to debate," Dr. Weir answered tiredly. Both Colonel O'Neill and the scientific advisors involved in the Atlantis project were adamant in this matter. "Rodney is too valuable for Atlantis to be sent on routine missions any longer."

That seemed to flatter McKay, but even if he wanted to say something about the matter, he did not come to it.

"That still doesn't mean I have to accept a clueless greenhorn as a member of my team," Sheppard protested. "It's the Number One team of Atlantis, I need someone with me who knows what he's doing. Surely Zelenka…"

"I need Zelenka in the labs," McKay interrupted. "He's the only one in the science department who isn't a complete moron. I can't trust anyone _not_ to blow up the whole city while I turn away for a moment."

"Besides," Dr. Weir added, "Dr. Zelenka isn't comfortable with Gate travel. I won't send him off-world, unless it's absolutely necessary."

"It _is_ necessary," Sheppard insisted. "I want an experienced scientist on my team, not some pretty boy who hasn't worked as a scientist for almost a decade and never saw a Wraith before!"

"Had you not gone all cowboy on me during the nanovirus crisis, we'd probably still have Dr. Petersen," Weir replied icily. "I'm sorry, John, but you just have to cope – just like the rest of us."

Sheppard gave her an unbelieving look. "You're still mad at me because of that one, isolated incident? I thought we've gone beyond that a long time ago."

"I'm not _mad_, she replied coolly. "This is a wholly different problem. You've undermined my authority as the leader of the expedition – the same authority you so vehemently defended against Colonel Sumner, if I'm not mistaken – and what's worse, you encouraged another member of the military to disobey my orders. Now, I might have chosen _not_ to make an issue out of this, because I still want you on Atlantis; you're _needed_ there, and you're needed badly. But it doesn't mean that I've _forgotten_ about it – or that I'll be able to trust you quite as unconditionally as I used to do."

Sheppard looked like someone who wanted to make some smart-assed remark, but O'Neill's quiet _Don't!_ silenced him. The general turned to Dr. Jackson.

"What do you think, Daniel? Is the boy gonna accept or not? Because if he doesn't, this entire discussion is a moot point, isn't it?"

The archaeologist shrugged.

"To be honest, it's hard to tell. It's an awful lot of things to absorb at once, and he's the kind of person who needs to put everything in proper perspective within his head before he'd make any decisions. It all depends on what Dr. Kavanagh tells him, I guess."

"Oh, great!" McKay rolled his eyes. "Of all people, he'd happen to listen to _Kavanagh_!"

Dr. Jackson frowned. "What's your problem with Dr. Kavanagh? Weren't you the person who hired him for the SGC?"

"No," Carter said, "that was me. In fact, we'd watched his work at CalTech for years by then. When he finally got to defend his second thesis, we sent in McKay to make it a little… harder for him. To see whether he can stand up for his own work or not. It was a great performance – I sat in the audience and listened, actually. _That_ was when we approached him afterwards."

"Well, if it's up to him, he'll do everything to talk the kid out of joining the Atlantis project, and good riddance," Sheppard growled. "I can just see the 'great performance' as you called it; him describing every single one of our failings in grand detail…"

"I don't think so," O'Neill said slowly. "Sure, Kavanagh wasn't exactly happy with a lot of things on Atlantis, but he still seems ready to go back. He wouldn't want to talk out of it someone he considers a friend… one who could become an ally."

"Yeah, but do we _want_ him to have an ally there?" McKay asked sarcastically.

Carter gave him a reproving look. "Let's face it, McKay, you can't get along with Kavanagh _exactly_ because the two of you are fairly alike," she said. "He's not as bad as you all try to make him look. And would you be a little fairer with him, he wouldn't complain half as much as he usually does."

"What do you mean I'm not fair?" McKay demanded. "I'm not there to hold hands with my minions; I'm there to save the city – _and_ Earth, by the way – from a Wraith takeover. I don't have the _time_ to be fair!"

"Too bad," O'Neill replied. "Try to _take_ time for it. Because so God help me, if I have to endure Woolsey's investigations again, I'll personally see that you get fired."

"Jack," Daniel Jackson intervened, "you're exaggerating."

"No, I'm not!" O'Neill retorted. "The man is driving me crazy, going through every mission report from Atlantis with the fine-toothed comb, looking for irregularities. And all that why? Because you can't treat a man whom you dislike fairly."

"Kavanagh's accusations are without merit," Sheppard said angrily. "He's a coward, trying to look better by making others look bad."

"He wasn't described as a coward by Colonel Dixon while going off-world with him and SG-13 regularly for almost two years," O'Neill answered dryly. "A coward wouldn't have returned from the Alpha Site to help fight the Wraith… quite a few other scientists didn't. And he was surprisingly efficient, it seems. According to Sergeant Stackhouse's report, Kavanagh's makeshift flamethrower saved his entire team."

"As for the incident you're referring to," Carter added, "is it not so that McKay suggested the same solution as Dr. Kavanagh? Why aren't you accusing _him_ of being a coward?"

"Well, for starters, he was in the jumper with us," Sheppard replied acidly. "Kavanagh wasn't."

"And that makes his suggestion less valid?" O'Neill asked. "He only told you what the risks were; and you jumped to the conclusion that he was _afraid_," he looked at Dr. Weir. "And _you_ threatened him to set him out on some uninhibited planet; that was badly handled, Elizabeth. I thought you were supposed to be a _diplomat_, for crying out loud!"

"Not to mention that in the end, it was Dr. Kavanagh's idea that saved all your asses, _plus_ Atlantis' control room from the destruction," Carter added, a little more evenly. "Now, none of us expect diplomatic behaviour from _McKay_…"

"Hey!" McKay protested, but Carter ignored him.

"…but based on how you used to deal with a crisis while you were the temporary head of the SGC, I'd have expected better," she finished. "We all had great respect for you; what happened to the Elizabeth Weir who stood up to Vice President Kinsley to stop his witch hunt based on personal dislikes?"

Dr. Weir became deathly pale, save from the two bright red spots on her cheeks. She turned to O'Neill. "If you think I'm incapable of leading Atlantis, General, you should start looking for a replacement," she said stiffly. "You've already had me relieved – by Colonel Everett – once. The second time shouldn't be half as hard."

"I had you relived in a military situation because Marines are better suited to deal with a siege," O'Neill answered. "That situation does no longer exist. I still trust your abilities as the civilian leader of an important outpost. I just ask you not to let your decisions to be influenced by personal likes and dislikes."

"Is that an order, General?" she asked coldly.

But O'Neill, used to face down Goa'uld Queens, wasn't the least bothered by her ice queen performance.

"No," he replied calmly. "It's a well-meant suggestion."

* * *

Kavanagh was surprised by Reid's changed looks… which weren't exactly unfamiliar for him. In fact, the neat haircut, the conservative clothes reminded him strongly of the shy young student, still not fully seventeen, who had entered his lab, babbling nervously, all those years ago.

"So, you're back to your pretty boy image?" he asked. "How come? I though you'd hated looking so much younger than you actually were."

"I used to," Reid answered with a shrug. "it doesn't bother me so much anymore. Besides, I wanted to make a good impression."

"On whom?" Kavanagh asked. "Are you looking for a new job or what?"

"Nah," Reid said. "Your… _bosses_ seem to have developed a certain interest for me, for some reason. They offered me a job, as a scientist," he lowered his voice to an almost-whisper. "On Atlantis."

Kavanagh pulled a face. "I always suspected they're watching these sick rooms. I'm not surprised, though, that after they've figured out who you are, they'd want you on the project. You'd be a real asset for Atlantis. Are you gonna accept the job?"

"I don't know," Reid admitted. "Somehow the whole thing is… surreal, you know? Hyperspace travel in itself is hard enough to swallow, but Stargates? How am I supposed to believe that two mechanical devices in two distant positions can generate an artificial, _stable_ wormhole between them, allowing one-way travel through to other planets… or even to another galaxy? Come on, Calvin, that's just not possible! Not anywhere outside of science-fiction, that is."

"Not as _we_ know science, it isn't," Kavanagh agreed. "But the original Stargates were created millions of years ago, by an alien race so advanced we can't even imagine what they were capable of. The oldest known Stargate built by the-ancients was fifty million years old, found under the ice of Antarctica a couple of years ago. The Gates in the Pegasus galaxy are newer and more modern, but basically, they all work the same way."

"And their working is exactly what I can't understand… or believe," Reid said. "I _know_ they work. I _know_ you and the others have used them countless times. But as long as I don't understand what's happening, there's no power in two galaxies that would drag me through that… that _thing_."

"Haven't you read the early reports?" Kavanagh asked in surprise. "I thought they'd show you them; usually, they do when they're trying to woo new scientists for the project."

"They did," Reid answered, "but what I read there is too little, too incomplete, too… unstructured."

"You should read Dr. Carter's book about wormhole physics," Kavanagh suggested. "it's not publicly available, but I'm sure they'd allow you access. She's absolutely brilliant, and the book summarizes decades of research considering the Stargate and its working. I think it would help you to understand as much about the whole concept as it's possible for the human mind."

"Assuming that I _do_ understand," Reid said. "Assuming that I'm willing to step through that… _thing_ eventually; would you suggest me to accept the job?"

Kavanagh shrugged. "I can't tell you what would be good for _you_, Reid, even though I still _do_ think that you're wasted at the FBI. This is a decision you need to make for yourself.

"All right," Reid nodded. "Tell me why _you've_ accepted the job, then… considering that it sent you to what might have become a one-way-journey to another galaxy. Why did you leave your family, your kids behind? It couldn't have been just the hazard pay."

"No, it wasn't," Kavanagh admitted. "The actual reason for trying to find Atlantis was to find advanced technologies we could use to defend Earth against the Goa'uld. And that meant defending my family, and everything else that's important for me. Besides, I had had it up to here with the military running things."

"I thought General O'Neill was a friend of yours," Reid said, not entirely getting it.

"He is," Kavanagh agreed. "But he's not the one who makes the final decisions. It's always one of the stupid warmongers, higher up on the hierarchy ladder of the Pentagon. There had been… incidents during my time with the SGC that made me seriously doubt the common sense of some of our politicians and military brasses. I hoped that with a civilian in charge of an _international _expedition, there would be a little bit more… intelligence involved."

"And? Were there not?" Reid asked.

Kavanagh shook his head. "Unfortunately, not. There were serious errors in judgement coming from the leaders of the expedition. Most notably, Dr. Weir. Her actions repeatedly and recklessly exposed various expedition members to extreme danger, leading directly to the grave situation we found ourselves in the end."

"Well, if I understood the reports correctly, it wasn't Dr. Weir who woke up the Wraith in the first place," Reid said. "It was Colonel Sheppard. And he was the one who chose _not_ to tell about that fact those people who were working on that Wraith-repelling virus…"

"…the Hoffans," Kavanagh supplied.

"Yeah, them. And during that, what did you call it, that nanovirus crisis, Dr. Weird had actually been right," Reid pointed out mercilessly. "Look, I don't find her particularly likeable, but let's face it: you hate her as much as she seems to dislike you. I know she treated you unfairly, but you paid it back twofold, by sending that report back to General O'Neill. As far as I can tell, the investigation is still running."

Kavanagh shrugged. "I was keeping a record of her questionable activities, which I then detailed for General O'Neill, yes. So what? He'd chosen her for the job – he needed to know that it was probably the false choice."

Reid shook his head tolerantly. "You're petty, you know that?"

"No," Kavanagh retorted. "I'm _worried_. I'm worried about Atlantis, and, consequently, about Earth, should we not be able to stop the Wraith over there, in the Pegasus galaxy. Because once they found their way to Earth, this planet will be history."

That was unquestionably true, even though Reid still had his doubts about _that_ aspect being the only reason behind his friend's rabid hatred towards Dr. Weir.

"So, what now?" he asked. "Are you planning to return to Atlantis at all, after your recovery?"

"I'm not sure," Kavanagh admitted. "it would be good to spend some time home, with Siobhan, Dion, Patrick and the boys, and I certainly could get a job either at Area 51 or at the SGC again. But on Atlantis, I still could make a difference, despite McKay's pathetic efforts to permanently assign me to sewer maintenance. And now that we can actually come home from time to time… I dunno, perhaps I _will_ go back, after all." He grinned at Reid. "I met some great people there, and I'd enjoy working with you again. We used to be a good team."

"That we did," Reid agreed. "Although there were others on that team, aside from the two of us, you know."

"There are good scientists on Atlantis, too," Kavanagh said. "Simpson, Zelenka, Kusanagi – a few others. You'd like to work with them. Promise me that you'll at leas think about it."

"All right," Reid said after a moment of consideration. "If this is so important for you, I'll think about it."

~TBC~

* * *

(1) Direct quote.

(2) Also a direct quote. Remember, Reid has an eidetic memory, especially related to things he's read.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Road Not Taken**

**by Soledad**

**Disclaimer:** The characters and settings in this series belong to The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and Showtime. Only a couple of original characters belong to me.

**Author's note:** As often before, the science projects and thesis titles are borrowed from the official website of CalTech. I have no idea what they mean, but I wanted to give these characters a convincing background. I have established the individual scientific fields for most Atlantis scientists years ago, based on the canonical cooperation between them, so they appear the same in all my stories.

**

* * *

**

Part 04

On the next day the BAU-team finished their work in Colorado Springs, and Hotch and Morgan returned to Quantico. For starters, Reid decided to take ten days of his accumulated leave and stayed in Colorado Springs to consider his chances. There was no need to make any sudden decisions; the new members of the Atlantis expedition were not about to board the _Daedalus_ and set off for the Pegasus Galaxy for quite some time yet. He could think in peace about whether he wanted to be part of that adventure or not,

In the meantime Kavanagh had been released from the hospital. He insisted that Reid checked out of 'that ridiculously overpriced hotel' and moved into the guest room of his house. Not that the house would be his own – it belonged to the Air Force, and he had it as a loan for the duration of his employment – but he was very proud of it nonetheless.

After some hesitation Reid agreed – and did not regret it. Patrick O'Malloy, Kavanagh's brother-in-law, was a big, warm-hearted bear of a man, who took him in with open arms. Siobhan, Kavanagh's older sister, an almost painfully thin woman, who nevertheless seemed to find great enjoyment in life, treated him as if he'd been a little boy, which was actually nice, and spoiled him rotten.

Speaking of little boys… Kavanagh's kids had fallen for him from the moment on he'd shown them his magician's tricks. From then on he was 'Unca Spence' and a firmly established part of their patchwork family. Which was nice, too. He'd never had a real family before.

Returning to scientific research, after all those years, was not exactly smooth, not even with his abilities. To read – and _understand_ – Carter's book about wormhole physics took him more than a week; more so as he needed to read the reference books and articles at the same time. He spent his whole day at the SGC, reading, discussing with the local scientists, watching them at work.

When he returned to the Kavanagh residence, he got force-fed by Siobhan, drank a beer with Patrick and the Kavanagh brothers, played with the kids – and when all the others had gone to bed, he and Calvin discussed science half the night.

He realized that during their years without contact, Calvin had become an excellent scientist. His second thesis about fluid mechanics, transport processes, complex and multiphasic fluids was sheer brilliance, and Reid who had not done any scientific research for years, had to mobilize all his dormant knowledge to catch up with the older man. The world of science had certainly gone beyond him a long stretch during the recent years. Fortunately, he was a quick study.

He also studied the other scientists from the original Atlantis expedition and was amazed by the compressed talent that had been sent out to the Pegasus galaxy. There was a certain Dr. Kusanagi, for example, whose field was computer science, with the specific goal of enhancing the mathematical and scientific foundations of computer graphics, extending them beyond mere picture-making to the point that reconfigurable models had great predictive power in the science.

Her work also included generic methods for mathematical modelling, rendering, simulation, scientific visualisation and human/computer interaction, as well as methods for constructing, simulating, rendering and perceiving the shape and behaviour of a broad range of physical objects. Her declared long-term goal was the creation of tools for simulation and behavioural prediction of mechanical and biophysical structures. Apparently, her methods were intended to be eventually applied to productively simulate the behaviour of cellular organelles. And what made her excellence even more amazing was the fact that she had begun working in this field _before_ getting introduced to Ancient technology.

She shared this particular field with Dr. Zelenka, an equally brilliant Czech scientist, who had made a name for himself in multi-disciplinary Systems Engineering, computational solid mechanics and control and dynamical systems, and had been involved – together with McKay – in the Russians' _naquadah_ generator building project.

Reid took the time to read (or, to be more accurate, to carefully study) Zelenka's theses (all three of them), and came to the conclusion that while the Czech scientist was not a certified genius (or, at least did not have a genius-level IQ), he was still incredible, way above others even in the SGC's engineering department. It would be inspiring – and highly educational – to work with him, he decided.

It was a shame that he wouldn't get the chance to work with Doctors Grodin, Hays and Petersen, though – all three of them absolutely brilliant… all three of them dead. It seemed that the Pegasus galaxy tended to take the best and the brightest first, which was a tragic loss. And those three hadn't been the only ones. Reid remembered having met the late Brendan Gall a few times, while still at college. Gall had been a child prodigy like himself… and now he was dead, together with _at least_ a dozen young, promising talents. Small wonder that the Pentagon was so desperately looking for new candidates.

"I still don't understand why they'd want _me_, though," he said to Kavanagh with a shrug." I might be bright, but I never worked as a scientist… not after my years at CalTech."

"But you have the potential, you're versatile, and you can take care of yourself until the jarheads arrive," Kavanagh pointed out, almost quoting Major Davis and not knowing it. "Sheppard used to make all scientists learn how to handle a gun. Zelenka was the best of us, of course – he'd served in the Czech army, after all – but we all had to learn to shoot. Well, not _me_, granted; I already knew how to do it. The Reverend used to send us, Dion and me, that is, to boys' boot camp. So we were thoroughly trained in survival skills. But all the others had to learn it the hard way… and very quickly."

Reid nodded. _Almost_ loosing both Elle and Hotch had been bad enough, but the Atlantis team had actual casualties: scientists who were never _meant_ to have to defend themselves against murderous aliens. At least Elle and Hotch were trained FBI-agents who knew the risks.

"Have you lost anyone you considered a friend?" he asked.

Kavanagh sighed. "Petersen. We used to work together at the SGC, and later on Atlantis, too. He was brilliant. More than brilliant, actually; and he knew as much about Atlantis as McKay."

"I read his thesis about advanced microfabrication technologies fort he constructing of optical, magnetic and microfluidic nanostructures," Reid said. "It was amazing."

"For an FBI-agent, you used to read a lot of scientific stuff," Kavanagh commented. Reid shrugged.

"I wanted to keep my knowledge in my chosen field up to date, as well as it was possible by mere reading," he said. "Besides, I've already read all the classics; and of what's there in modern literature, very little is worth reading."

Kavanagh grinned. "I'm surprised you never thought of becoming a professor of classic literature. With your eidetic memory and having read everything of importance already, you'd be the terror of all students."

"Actually," Reid answered thoughtfully, "there _was_ a week or two where I thought I might go to Yale and study the classics. But then I realized I've already read everything they teach in the curriculum and chose to go to CalTech instead."

Kavanagh's grin grew even wider. "You know, had anyone _else_ said that, I'd find it absurd. But having worked with you, I know it's actually an understatement."

Reid gave him an oddly embarrassed smile. "Thank you… I think. It was my mother's influence, mostly. She was a professor of fifteenth century literature once, and she taught me to love to read."

"Are you still in contact?" Kavanagh asked, placing a large mug of coffee – with lots of sugar – before the younger man. "Here, fuel your addiction."

"Such contact as it is," Reid sipped the coffee thoughtfully; it was really good, unlike the one at the BAU bullpen. "Earlier on, she at least read my letters, took some part in my life that way, but in these days… well, nobody can tell how much of reality she still perceives. The least her doctors."

"Which means you could go to Atlantis without upsetting her very much," Kavanagh said.

Reid nodded. "Yeah… ain't that a sad thing?"

"I dunno," Kavanagh replied with a shrug. "Perhaps both of you are better off this way. Well, what's next on your to-read-list?"

"I wanted to look up the late Dr. Grodin's thesis about optimized network data storage and topology control," Reid answered. "It could prove useful, should I ever have to deal with Ancient computer systems. What I can see, they're quite different from ours."

"As far as I know, Grodin was working on a study on Atlantis' computer system," Kavanagh said. "That would be more helpful. I don't think he managed to finish it, but McKay must have the first draft stored somewhere."

"Thanks for the hint," Reid drank some more coffee, then he put the mug down and returned to his reading. "I will ask if I get the chance. But first, I want to read this one. It seems really interesting, and I like to see how the scientific mind develops through research and analysis."

* * *

Two days later Reid was still catching up with wormhole physics and crystal-based Ancient technology – there was a _lot_ to learn in a very short time, should he want to become a useful member of the Atlantis expedition – when his cell phone rang.

He picked up absently. "Reid. Yes… Yes, I am. When? I see. And the cause? She did _what_? No, no, I understand, I was just… well, shocked. It's fairly unexpected. No, of course I will. I… I'll call you back as soon as I've made the necessary preparations."

Kavanagh watched with growing unease as Reid's face became more and more clouded as he listened to the person on the other end of the connection. Whatever might have happened, it could not be good news. Finally, Reid thanked the caller and hung up, his face blank and his eyes haunted.

"It was the Bennington Sanitarium," he said, before Kavanagh could have asked. "There's been an… accident."

Kavanagh knew, of course, that Reid's mother, who'd been suffering from paranoid schizophrenia most of her life, was living in a mental institution in Las Vegas.

"Your Mom?" he asked.

Reid nodded. "She's dead; apparently overdosed her medicines. Nobody knows how she's managed to do it, but again, she was mentally instable, not _stupid_. She might have planned this for a very long time. People with split personality disorders can be surprisingly well-organized."

Kavanagh didn't really know what to say. Considering his relationship with his own parents, it would have been hard to say anything that wouldn't sound hypocritical.

"I'm sorry," he offered awkwardly. Reid shrugged.

"Yeah, me, too," he replied with a self-reproaching smile. "And I feel so frigging _guilty_, you know? Because now that she's gone, I can accept the Atlantis job, without asking myself how I'm gonna keep writing her letters every day, when I wouldn't be allowed to tell her everything about my work as I used to."

"I never knew the two of you were so close," Kavanagh said.

Reid shrugged again. "Define _close_," he answered. "True, when I grew up, I learned nearly everything I know now from books. She was often reading to me, keeping me really close – except when she had one of those phases when she didn't even register her surroundings at all… not even me. So I had to become independent at a very young age; right after my father left us because he apparently couldn't 'deal' with Mom's condition."

"But he expected _you_ to deal with it?" Kavanagh asked. "The bastard!"

"After a while, neither could I, to be honest," Reid admitted. "So when I turned eighteen, I placed her in the Bennington Sanitarium. I was even too much of a coward to _visit_ her, for _years_!"

"Hence the daily letters," Kavanagh finished for him.

Reid nodded, trying to blink back his tears… and failed.

Kavanagh hesitated for a moment, unsure whether he should act on his long-denied feelings for the younger man, but in the end, his protective instinct won over his caution. He opened his arms and hugged the distraught young genius like he would have hugged one of his own kids.

No; that wasn't entirely true. His feelings for Reid had _never_ been purely paternal, although back at the time when he'd first met Reid, he'd never admitted _what_ exactly they were. His attraction had uncomfortably reminded him of cradle robbery, so he'd stomped it down ruthlessly. It had been just _wrong_.

In fact, he still wasn't entirely comfortable with admitting his feelings for Reid. Not now, when the younger man was grieving and vulnerable and… well, perhaps _needy_, if the way he clung to Kavanagh was any indication.

It would have been hard to tell afterwards who'd started the kiss. All they could remember later was that in the next moment they were kissing, with hurried, desperate kisses, like starving men who'd unexpectedly found a source of life-saving water.

"I'm sorry," Kavanagh murmured when they finally broke the lip lock due to acute lack of air, but he couldn't stop stroking the younger man's soft hair. "I shouldn't have taken advantage on you like that."

"Calvin… don't!" Reid's usually pale cheeks were flushed; with his shining eyes and wet, kiss-bruised lips he looked good enough to eat. "I needed it, too. More than you could possibly imagine."

"You're a lot less shy than you used to be," Kavanagh remarked, kissing him again. "This new self-confidence… it suits you."

Reid shrugged. "Actually, I wasn't particularly shy, way back when we used to work together," he said. "Not more so, in any case, than I am now. I was just shy around _you_ – because I had a mad crush on you."

That confession surprised Kavanagh to no end. "On _me_? You never gave any sign…"

Reid laughed mirthlessly. "How could I? You were a married man – well, a divorced one – with kids. Besides, you had enough problems for ten people already. I was sure you'd break my nose, had you even guessed that I had the hots for you."

"Don't be ridiculous," Kavanagh shook his head. "I could never hurt you. Although I must admit that you've surprised me just now. I'd never have taken you for gay."

"I'm not; well, not exclusively," Reid sighed and leaned against him as if for support. "Not that my record with women would be spectacular, but I'm… well… _interested_. Not as interested as in _you_, though. Perhaps I'm one of those people who fall for a _person_, regardless of their gender."

"Does this mean that you still _are_ interested?" Kavanagh asked gently, kissing him again.

The eager response of the younger man left no doubt that the answer would be a definitive _yes_.

"So, now that we know we're both… _interested_, where will we go from here?" Reid asked, resting his forehead on the other man's shoulder. Kavanagh kissed the top of his head.

"You'll have to bury your Mom first. After that… we'll see. It won't be easy, that much is sure, but where there is a will, there is a way, as they say."

"If I take the job, it will be easier," Reid murmured. "We could work together, just like in old times, and nobody would ask why we spend so much time with each other."

"That would be nice," Kavanagh agreed, "but that shouldn't be the reason to choose Atlantis… or any other job with the SGC. You should choose what's good for _you_."

"I do think that being with you _will_ be good for me," Reid said, kissing him briefly. "Even if it means I'll have to go to Atlantis; unless you're not planning to return, after all."

"I used to have my doubts," Kavanagh admitted. "Unlike at the SGC, I have no friends there – well, save from Simpson, perhaps – and being separated from my family was harder than expected. Still, the work _is_ challenging, despite McKay's presence, and I can learn there a lot, as a scientist. Yes, I believe I'd like to go back there for a second year… although perhaps not for much longer."

"One year," Reid smiled up into the older man's blue eyes. "That sounds doable, doesn't it? Especially when you take with you someone who cares for you."

"Let's hope so," Kavanagh paused for a moment. "Do you want me to accompany you at the funeral? Technically, I'm still on sick leave. I can take the time."

"You should take the time to be with your kids," Reid reminded him.

Kavanagh shrugged. "They're used to me being away a lot. Another day or two wouldn't count. I don't want you to be alone with this."

"I won't be," Reid said, his eyes calm and serious now. "My team-mates will come. Perhaps it's better if I go alone. It will give me the chance to say my goodbyes properly."

"All right," Kavanagh said after a short pause. "I understand that: the need for closure. But promise me that you'll call if it becomes too much."

"I will," Reid kissed him again, this time not quite as briefly as before. "But it won't be necessary. I'm used to deal with crisises. Especially with family-related ones."

"When do you leave?" Kavanagh asked.

Reid thought about it for a moment. "Tomorrow, with the first available plane," he decided. "There's nothing I could do today, and I'd rather have a restful night before I have to confront… to confront all this. If I'll be able to sleep at all, that is."

"Perhaps you'd rest better if you didn't have to sleep alone tonight," Kavanagh suggested. At Reid's panicked look he raised his hand. "No, not _that_ way, what are you thinking? Whatever you might have heard about me, I'm not that callous. I'm simply offering company... a shoulder to cry on, if that's what you need."

"I… I don't really _know_ what I need right now," Reid whispered.

"We can try to find out," Kavanagh said quietly.

Reid looked at him as if trying to figure out whether he had any hidden agenda. But he found nothing save honest concern and sympathy.

"I… I think I'd like that," he replied slowly.

* * *

When Reid arrived in Las Vegas, Elle was waiting for him on the airport.

"The others are caught up in a case," she explained, "but Garcia called me and, well, I was overdue for a break anyway, so I thought I'd come to see Vegas. I haven't been there for a long time; besides, I've wanted to talk to you without the others for years."

"You have?" Reid asked in surprise. "Why? I mean, why _me_?"

"Because we have something in common, you and me," Elle replied, her eyes dark and serious. "And because this is a conversation I owe you… have owed you for a while."

Reid frowned for a moment – then he understood what she meant.

"It's about Lee, isn't it?" he asked. "And what happened before…"

Elle nodded. "And about what happened to _you_ in the next year," she said.

"All right," Reid said. "Let's drive to Bennington and deal with the formalities first. We can talk afterwards as much as we want."

That was fine with Elle, and so they took her rental car and drove to the Bennington Sanitarium together, to organize everything that was needed for the funeral of the late Diana Reid. The director of the institution was very helpful – no to mention woefully used to such procedures – so they were done with everything there was to do by the late afternoon and were free till the actual funeral, which was to take place in two days' time. Sometimes working for the FBI could speed up standard procedures.

"So, what now?" Elle asked. "Do you still have a place of your own in Vegas, or do we have to get hotel rooms?"

"I still have our house," Reid answered. "I guess I'll have to sell it now, as it's unlikely I'd ever move back there, but for the time being, it will do."

It was strange to return to the place of his childhood; strange and not necessarily pleasant, bringing back painful memories. He was grateful for Elle's presence; she was a fellow survivor, who could perhaps understand him best of all his team-mates. Or _former_ team-mates."

They aired the fairly stuffy flat, and while Reid made the beds (there were countless sets of bedlinens stored in one of the cupboards), Elle went shopping for groceries, coming back with Chinese take-out, fruits, beer and freshly ground coffee.

"I wanted donuts with the coffee, but they were at least two days old," she said, dumping everything onto the kitchen counter and adding an unidentifiable paper bag. "So I brought muffins instead. Chocolate chip muffins. I hope you don't mind."

"Everything with sugar is good," Reid answered absently. "Thanks, Elle. It means a lot that I don't have to do this alone. By the way, how come that Garcia happened to call you, of all people?"

"I still chat with her occasionally," Elle placed one of the cartoon boxes and a pair of chopsticks in front of him. "We've never lost contact completely, but after she got shot… well, I guess she needed someone who knew what it's like."

"Morgan helped her a great deal after she came out of the hospital," Reid said vaguely.

Elle nodded. "I know. But it's different for women; especially if we're attacked in our home – a place that's supposed to be _safe_, you know? Sometimes we just need a little girl talk. And Garcia was there for me, too, even after I'd left the BAU-team."

"Unlike we others," Reid added, because it definitely hung in the air between them.

Elle shrugged. "I don't blame _you_. You have, at least, tried to understand. You tried to talk to me; even though I wasn't ready just then. Gideon and Hotch, though – they simply judged me. They didn't even _try_ to understand… and _that_'s something I can't forget… or forgive."

They ate in silence – and without much appetite – for a while.

"I knew you were lying," Reid finally said. "I knew that Lee didn't threaten you with a gun. I think the others knew it, too, but they didn't want to get you in trouble."

"So they simply decided to shun me for the rest of my life," Elle replied bitterly. "You all did; except Garcia."

"You killed that man in cold blood, Elle!" Reid said gently.

"It was my fault that he got free," Elle replied flatly. "I've just corrected that mistake. I had no other choice; he'd have gone on, abducting and raping women… just because I panicked. I couldn't allow _that_."

"I do understand," Reid said. "But that doesn't make it right.."

"It doesn't give you or the others the right to judge over me, either," Elle returned. "_I am_ the one who has to live with it."

"That is true," Reid admitted; then, after a meaningful pause, he asked. "Can you? Live with it, I mean."

Elle shrugged. "Actually… yeah, I can. A lot better than with the memories of what that madman has done to me. There are times I can still feel his fingers reaching into my wound to write his fucking message onto the wall… with my own blood," she shivered. "You know… I couldn't sleep longer than an hour a time for _years_ afterwards. On some nights, I still can't. They say flesh remembers longer than the mind does. I always thought it was stupid, but now… I've been taught better."

She looked at Reid's darkening face and recognized that hunted look in his eyes.

"You too?" she asked. "You still remember, too, don't you?"

Reid nodded. "You and I are not that different," he said. "You turned to booze – I turned to drugs. What's the difference?"

"You haven't exactly _turned_ to drugs," Elle corrected. "You were _fed_ drugs by that monster. I know that. I've seen it."

"How could you…?" Reid trailed off, then nodded as realization dawned on him. "Of course. Garcia."

"Yeah," Elle nodded.

"So I didn't start it," Reid said with a shrug. "I 'just' went on with it for months afterwards. As if that would be an excuse…"

"But you aren't using anymore, are you?" Elle asked, giving him a thorough look.

Reid shook his head. "Nah, I've been clean for more than a year by now… but that doesn't mean that I'm not endangered anymore."

"Of course not," Elle agreed. "Just like I could crawl back into the bottle whenever the lure of a drink is too strong."

Now it was Raid's turn to give her a good, hard look.

"Are you dry? I mean, have you ever managed to…"

"I've managed to get away from the bottle, yes," Elle interrupted. "Fortunately, I hadn't been drinking for too long when I got a job at the Seattle Police Department… and my lieutenant recognized the early signs at once. He talked me into therapy, helped me to go through withdrawal and supported me to become a detective. It's not quite the same as being a Special Agent, but the work is similar, and it gives me the feeling that I'm actually _doing_ something. I like that feeling."

"Have you never wished you had stayed with us?" Reid asked.

Elle shook her head, slowly, determinedly. "No. I miss you, and I miss Garcia, although we often talk, but the others… I bet they never had the balls to address _your_ little problem, either. Did they know about it at all?"

"I think Hotch did," Reid answered thoughtfully. "Perhaps JJ, too. They never spoke about it, though."

"Just as I thought," Elle snorted. "How _very_ helpful. I'm surprised that you're still working for them. With your brains you could get any job, in economics _or_ science that you want."

"Actually, I'm just about to take a year-long hiatus," Reid admitted. "The Air Force has offered me a job – a chance to work for them as an engineer, on rocket propulsion systems, and Hotch said I could have the extended leave to see whether it suits me or not."

"And? Do you think it will?" Elle prompted.

Reid shrugged. "We'll see. At least it gives me the chance to work with an old colleague again; one I used to be in the same research group with at CalTech. He's a very good scientist… and a… a friend, I think. In any case, I'm looking forward to work with him."

"Uh-huh," Elle said with twinkling eyes. "A _very_ special friend, is he?"

"Not _that_ way!" Reid protested automatically; then his natural honesty won over, and he admitted with a furious blush. "Well, perhaps… I'm really not sure. I never thought I would… and I'd thank you if you didn't mention it… him… to the others."

Elle shook her head in fond exasperation.

"Spencer," she said with a sad little smile, calling him by his given name for the first time since they had known each other, "do you think I'd wish to talk to them _at all_? Especially about _you_?"

"Well, you do talk to Garcia," Reid pointed out reasonably.

"That's different," Elle said. "She's a fellow survivor. We weren't particularly close while I worked for the BAU, but since then, we've become real friends… a fact for which I'm very grateful."

"Since she, too, got shot," Reid nodded in understanding.

Elle shook her head. "No, actually it started after _your_ abduction. I saw the news on TV, freaked out and called her in the middle of the night; not that she'd have been sleeping," she grinned at him. "I guess we both have a soft spot where you're concerned. I know I always had."

Reid felt the heat creeping into his face and knew he was blushing. "Erm… thanks, I think. I'm flattered."

"You should be," Elle's grin broadened for a moment, then she because serious again. "And now that we've got almost two days with nothing else to do, we're gonna talk."

"About what?" Reid felt nervous and tried to camouflage that fact with playing the dumb card, but Elle knew them too well to buy that.

"About what happened to you two years ago," she said. "I know you, Spencer Reid. Even if they made you go to a therapist – and I'm sure they did – you'd never share anything really personal with someone you don't know well. You know _me_. You know I've gone through something similar… and didn't deal with it well. You told me so yourself. You shouldn't make the same mistake."

"I… I don't understand why you want me to talk about it," Reid said defensively.

"Because you _need_ to get it out of your system, unless you want to suffer from severe PTDS all your life," she replied seriously. "Or from major depressive episodes. Or from some kind of extensive psychosis. With your family history…" she trailed off, fearing that she might make thing worse, but Reid understood.

"… I could end up in a padded room talking to myself," he finished for her. "I know that, Elle. I'm all too aware of the fact that my mother's condition can be passed on genetically… especially to children with high IQs like mine. But please, believe me if I say that I'm fine. It's all in the past."

"Then _talk_ to me," she insisted. "Remember how you made me talk about _my_ ordeal? I wasn't terribly cooperative, I know, and I'm sorry about that; but in the long run, it _has_ helped a lot. And don't tell me you've gotten over the memories already. That's not true. You can lie to yourself, but you can't lie to _me_. Because I _know_ what it's like. So talk to me. Please."

Reid did not answer immediately. He had to admit that there were things she was right about. Like him not letting the shrink in any deeper than absolutely necessary. Like still suffering from nightmares. Perhaps talking to a friend who'd had similar experiences _would_ help. He could not go to Atlantis as an emotional wreck, should he decide to accept the offer.

"Very well," he said. "You've asked for it."

* * *

They talked half the night and most of the next day, sharing stories of heavy emotional trauma and of slow recovery like two battle-torn veteran in a military hospital. On the end of the day Reid had to admit that Elle had been right: talking about those terrifying memories _did_ help. And now that he was about to begin a whole new period of his life, he _had_ needed to load off as much old garbage as possible.

On the late afternoon, while Elle was off to get them more food, he called Major Davies and told him that he was willing to accept the job: for one year at first.

"That should be enough time to see whether I'm made for that kind of work or not," he added. "I understand that it has already been cleared with Director Mueller."

"It has," Davis replied. "I'll inform General O'Neill; but you, too, should report in to the CMOC as soon as possible."

"At the moment, it's a little complicated," Reid told him. "I'm currently in Las Vegas, taking care of the funeral of my mother."

"We know," Davis said. "I've been talking to Dr. Kavanagh. My sincerest condolences, Dr. Reid. However, you should really come back with the first plane available. Now that you've accepted, you'll have a lot of preparations to make."

"I'll do my best," Reid promised and hung up.

As Elle still had not come back, he decided to use the opportunity and call Kavanagh, too. Considering the unexpected changes in their relationship, it was only fair that he told the man the news himself.

"The funeral is tomorrow, at fourteen hundred," he explained. "I'll take the evening plane to get back to Colorado Springs."

"Call me right before start, and I'll fetch you from the airport," Kavanagh offered.

Reid shook his head, even though his friend couldn't see it.

"You don't have to," he said. "I can always rent a car at the airport."

"Sure you can," Kavanagh replied, "but you don't have to. Besides, that way we can be alone for a little while. It would be… nice."

_That_ was an argument Reid could not counter, and so he gave in, trying not to sound too eager. He was looking forward to spend some quality time with Kavanagh indeed. They had a lot to talk about, and it was better to do it _before_ they would head out into a different galaxy.

* * *

When Elle came back, she brought Garcia with her. Apparently, they had planned this… friendly takeover from the beginning, but Reid was okay with it. As always, Garcia brought an air of vibrant life with her, which was most comforting. Not for the first time, he wondered how she was doing it, after all that she had gone through. Perhaps it was a gift she had been born with.

Of course, he had to tell her then that he was leaving the team for at least a year, and she did not take it well. There were tears and muffled accusations and passionate exclamations, not to mention crushing hugs… but Reid knew she was not truly angry with him. She was just upset about losing him.

"You're not _losing_ me," he promised. "I'm not gonna leave for good, I promise. After all, we share the responsibility for JJ's baby, don't we? I'd never leave you alone with that kind of responsibility. But as Hotch said himself: I truly need a change of scenery; now that Mom's gone more so than before."

Garcia could understand that, and her agitation settled after a while. They stayed up late in the night again, watching really bad, old sci-fi movies on some obscure channel and eating popcorn. It was a perfect evening between friends – one Reid knew he would remember for a very long time. Had the two girls known he was about to leave for another galaxy, they could not have seen him off any better.

* * *

The funeral on the next day was a very subdued affair, with very few people attending. Hotch and Morgan arrived in the last moment, and Reid was truly glad to see them. Rossi and Prentiss still could not have the case they had been caught up in for quite some time. They sent wreaths and their condolences. JJ and Will arrived just in time, with baby Henry in a carrier. If they were surprised to see Elle here, they gave no sign. It was a fairly amiable reunion.

Till the last moment, Reid had hoped that Gideon would show up. He'd sent e-mails to his mentor's old address. He knew that while Gideon chose not to answer his mail, he still checked his inbox regularly, just in case. Reid also knew that Gideon wanted a clean cut from his life as a profiler. Still, he hoped the older man would make an exception for his sake. After all, had he not been Gideon's pupil for five years?

That it did not happen saddened him – but it was not really a surprise.

Perhaps it was better so, he thought, sitting in the living room of his home of old with his oldest, closest team-mates, drinking bear with them and making inconsistent small talk, just for old times' sake. Perhaps he, too, needed a clean cut; to make his heart and mind free for new challenge. To be able to focus on the future, instead of focusing on the past. It still hurt a little that Gideon had not come, but he was no small, frightened boy longing for a father – or an ersatz father – any more.

His father had not come to the funeral, either. But that, too, was not surprising. Neither did it hurt any longer. Spencer Reid, the gifted child who intimidated his father with his uncanny maturity, had grown up. He no longer _needed_ a father – biological or otherwise.

That realization was more liberating than he would have thought.

With Elle's help, he had made his peace with the past. Had closed many doors behind himself, even though he had not burned all bridges. There were many things in the past he would think back to with fondness. Many things that had shaped him to the person he was now. He was grateful for all that.

But now it was time for new things. Life was change, and change led to further growth. He felt ready to face those changes now.

~TBC~


	5. Chapter 5

**The Road Not Taken**

**by Soledad**

**Disclaimer:** The characters and settings in this series belong to The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and Showtime. Only a couple of original characters belong to me.

**Author's note:** You didn't really think I would be able to resist the urge to include O'Neill 2.0, did you? I've probably missed up the timeline a little, as he appeared at the beginning of SG-1's Season 7, but I wanted him to be at least an adult.

I know that – after five or so years – the PTB have finally managed to give Major Lorne a first name, but you know what? I don't care. I've adopted various fanon names years ago (just like with Kavanagh) and stick with them. Sorry. They should have made up their minds earlier.

**

* * *

**

Part 05

The following weeks were filled with frantic activity. The preparations for the long travel to Atlantis had begun in earnest, and suddenly Reid had a lot to do to finish them on time. Fortunately for him, Kavanagh had already done this once and could help him getting ready; both with actual help and with useful advice. Besides, that way they could divide the things considered necessary between the two of us, which was quite the place-saver, because they only needed to pack the books, movies, music, etc. they both preferred once.

Reid decided to put the family house in Vegas on sell – with his mother now gone, he did not intend to return there, ever – but kept his little flat in Quantico. That had been his home for the last seven years, and he felt much more bound to it than to the place of his childhood, which had always been shadowed by tragedy. Besides, it was well within reasonable possibilities that he _would_ return to Quantico (and to the BAU-team) one day.

Kavanagh drove him to Quantico and back several times, until he had everything packed away and ordered to his liking. They experimented with closeness a little during those trips. Just enough to get used to the constant presence of each other without it resulting in embarrassing physical reactions… of which blushing was just the most harmless one. Being with another man, even on a platonic level, was new for them both, and it made them both skittish. Reid had always been uncomfortable with being touched, unless he knew the person very well, and Kavanagh was a very private man. There was a lot to get used to, and they saw no reason to hurry.

Shortly after his ultimate return from Vegas, Reid got introduced to a certain Major Marcus Lorne: a friendly, easy-going Air Force officer who had been selected to be Major… no, _Colonel_ Sheppard's second-in-command, as the officer with the weird bed hair had apparently been promoted in the meantime.

"I heard it wasn't an easy feat," Major Lorne told Kavanagh, whom he had known from their shared time at the SGC. "Colonel Caldwell, who's now in command of the _Daedalus_, had his eyes on the position of Atlantis' military commander. The Marines wanted one of them to replace the late Colonel Sumner badly, since the military force of Atlantis practically _consist_ of Marines. Not to mention that they're royally pissed at Sheppard for killing Sumner, right at the beginning."

"That was a mercy kill," Kavanagh said. "I despise Sheppard more than the entire Marine Corps would be able to do, but in that particular case he did the right thing, in my opinion. Trust me, Major; had the Wraith Queen sucked _me_ dry, I'd have wished for a mercy shot, too. Colonel Sumner was well beyond help by then."

Lorne nodded. "I know that; and I think the brass of the Marine Corps know it, too. They're just forcing the issue because they don't want a 'cocky flyboy' to command their own men."

"Instead, they have now another cocky flyboy as second-in-command," Kavanagh said, darkly amused. "How did _that_ happen?"

"Well, it was Dr. Weir who pressed for Sheppard's promotion," Lorne replied with a shrug. "They may have their differences, but she needs him, and she knows it. Plus, she has enough influence with the President that she'd get whatever she wants."

Kavanagh pulled a face. "And they say nepotism were dead…"

"Not exactly nepotism," Lorne corrected. "She's not _related_ to the President, after all. But she _did_ a good job when Senator Kinsley tried to shut down the whole Stargate program a couple of years ago, and people tend to remember such things fondly. You weren't here then – you were on Antarctica, if I remember correctly – but it was no small feat. She showed a backbone few other people would have dared."

"How did she become the incompetent, frigid bitch that she's now, then?" Kavanagh asked sarcastically. "The one who plays favourites and makes stupid decisions, based alone on her unstable emotional state?"

Major Lorne gave him an unfriendly look. "Let's assume I haven't heard _that_, doc. I must work with her – and with Colonel Sheppard – closely, so if you don't mind, I'd prefer to build my own opinion about them when I've gotten to know them a little better."

"How did you end up as second-in-command over a platoon of Marines?" Reid asked hurriedly, to change the topic before things could become _really_ nasty. "You're an Air Force officer, aren't you?"

Lorne shrugged. "They wanted someone with some off-world experience under his belt in the command structure, and I've been with the SGC for several years. I'm a geologist, so I've gone off-world with SG-11 all the time and have faced some really weird aliens… like Unas and ascended Ancients and the likes. Plus, it turns out I've got the gene, so I'll be able to use all kinds of Ancient technology we might run into – so the brass picked me. Not having a family of my own was helped, too, I guess."

He paused and glanced at Kavanagh, as if something had just occurred to him. "I'm still surprised that they accepted _you_ in the first place. You've got kids, after all."

"I also have extensive knowledge and ample experience with Ancient technology, regardless of what McKay might tell you," Kavanagh retorted. "As for my sons, they live with my sister and her family and are cared for excellently. Besides, they needed people who'd get through the Gate without histrionics, and not many geeks are able to do _that_."

"Right," Lorne nodded. "I forgot that you used to go off-world with SG-13 a lot. Do you have a team destination on Atlantis already? Or are you staying with your team from the previous year?"

"I don't _have_ a team," Kavanagh all but spat. "After our first… _confrontation_, barely a few weeks after our arrival, our fearless and oh-so-competent expedition leader declared me a coward, socially inept and thus unfit for off-world trips. McKay, in his eagerness to kiss up to her, practically denoted me to sewer maintenance tech afterwards."

"Well, if you're still interested in going off-world, I could request you for my team," Lorne offered. "I'd feel better with an SGC veteran on my side than with some helpless newbie who'd wet himself at the first sight of a weird-looking alien."

"Don't expect the leaders of the expedition to like the idea," Kavanagh warned him with a snort. "But yeah, I'd like to go off-world again. I didn't go to another galaxy to spend all my time in the sewers."

Lorne shrugged again. "If you were good enough for Colonel Dixon, you'll be good enough for me," he replied. "I know Dave Dixon; he doesn't tolerate fools well. He seems to like you, though; at least he gave you a very good evaluation, which, I guess, had gotten you into Atlantis in the first place. I can build on his opinion… or so I hope."

"You can," Kavanagh answered simply. Lorne nodded.

"Works for me. I'm gonna make that request, then." He glanced at his watch. "Debriefing is in twenty minutes. You two coming or not?"

"Not yet," Kavanagh replied. "That one must be for grunts alone. Geek meeting is at eleven-thirty, with McKay – may God have pity with us all!"

"Oh, c'm on!" Lorne mock-protested, but he was grinning; he _had_ experienced McKay during the Canadian's guest appearances at the SGC. "He can't be _that_ bad!"

"You think?" Kavanagh raised an ironic eyebrow. "Ask Colonel Carter."

"Perhaps I will," Lorne shook hands with them. "Well, I must be gone. It was nice to meet you, Dr. Reid. See you aboard the _Daedalus_, then."

He checked his watch again, frowned and jogged down the corridor towards the elevator.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The "geek meeting", two hours later, was an interesting affair, to say the least. McKay presided, of course, chatting with at least six people about at least eight different projects at the same time… not that the others could manage to get more than the occasional comment in-between his excited monologues. Dr. Weir was present, too, as well as a friendly, stocky man with a strong Scottish accent. Dr. Carson Beckett, the Chief Medical Officer of Atlantis and the one who had discovered the ATA gene – together with the recently-promoted Colonel Sheppard and a big, balding man wearing the uniform and the rank insignia of a Marine colonel. The others were scientists, recruited for the Atlantis expedition from all over the planet.

Reid tugged on his blue uniform jacked that had the Atlantis logo and the US flag patch on its arm nervously. He'd never worn a uniform before, and even though this was just a scientist one, it made him vaguely uncomfortable. His only comfort was that the other newbies seemed every bit out of their element as he felt.

Well, with _one_ exception. The slightly long-haired, dark blond young man who was sitting opposite him on the other side of the table – the one with the uncanny resemblance to General O'Neill – did _not_ make the impression as if any of this would be new for him. Which was a bit strange, considering that he barely looked any older than seventeen or eighteen.

"Calvin," Reid murmured. "Who's that guy? He seems… familiar somehow.

Kavanagh glanced in that direction and nodded at the young man, who nodded back in recognition.

"Officially, he's General O'Neill's nephew," Kavanagh told Reid.

Reid raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "And unofficially?"

"Unofficially, he's his clone," Kavanagh said matter-of-factly. "Check the SGC reports about the Asgard in general and _one_ Asgard named Loki in particular."

"Oh, come on!" Reid whined. "That can take forever!"

Kavanagh grinned at his impatience. "With your speed of reading? I don't think so. Anyway," he added, seeing that Reid was getting a little annoyed with him, "to make a long story short, O'Neill was cloned by a renegade Asgard, but the clone had not fully matured, due to some mistake in the cloning process. After some trouble and a great deal of mix-up, however, the clone got fixed and decided to go back to high school and use his second chance to get a proper education. That was three… no, almost four years ago, so he must be eighteen or so now… biologically."

"Cool," Reid said. "I guess he has all of General O'Neill's memories, up to four years ago, doesn't he?"

Kavanagh nodded. "Of course. That's how we know each other. He must have gone through high school and college real fast to be here now, though. But with his advantage, that was to be accepted."

"I guess so," Reid eyed the young man with the old soul thoughtfully. "And he chose a scientific career, rather than a military one? That makes sense, actually. Two O'Neills within the same organization would be a little… disturbing. What might be his field?"

"I don't know," Kavanagh replied with a shrug. "I had no idea that he'd come with us at all. He and the general chose _not_ to keep contact, back then – apparently, they'd changed their minds. Considering _General_ O'Neill's interests, though, I'd guess astronomy or aeronautic engineering. Plus, I assume he, too, has the gene in spades, so they'd take him even if he'd studied medieval love poetry or healing through meditation – which I for my part would doubt very much."

Reid did not think so, either. The young man did not make the impression of an overly spiritual person. Besides, knowing that he was, basically, a younger version of General O'Neill, in full possession of the memories and life experience of the original, such a choice seemed rather unlikely.

Before he could voice his agreement with Kavanagh's opinion, however, Dr. Weir rose from her seat and knocked on the table in front of her.

"If I may have your attention," she began, "I'd like to welcome you all to the Atlantis expedition. As you know, you've joined the personnel of Earth's most exciting… and perhaps most dangerous outpost. The original expedition members whom you'll have to replace have gone out into the unknown bravely, mindful of the risks that they might be taking, but not truly knowing what would be waiting for them."

She paused, her eyes darkening with sorrow – and perhaps with memories too traumatic to ever forget.

"You've all read the reports," she finally continued. "You know they've sacrificed their lives to protect us all… to protect Earth, one way or another. We'll remember them with love, respect and honour. I won't lie to you – those are pretty big shoes to fill, and you won't have an easy time at first. We are a close-knit community – for a year, we thought we'd never hear from Earth again and were willing to stand on our own as well as we could. Accept so many new faces in our midst will be something of a struggle. But with enough goodwill on both sides, I'm positive that we'll manage."

At first Reid thought he was mistaken by the impression that she was looking at Kavanagh pointedly while saying that. But seeing Kavanagh's noncommittal shrug, he realized that the carefully-worded warning had been exactly that: a warning.

He felt protective anger rising in him and glared at the expedition leader coldly. How did she _dare_? Had she not been the first to humiliate Calvin in front of his entire team, and then threatened him to set him off on some uninhabited planet, just because Calvin had warned about some very real danger for the entire city? Had she, Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay not treated Calvin like a pariah ever since?

_Close-knit community, my ass!_ He thought angrily, and was just about to say something when Kavanagh squeezed his knee under the table. He looked up and saw Calvin's small but firm shake of head. He deflated a little. Apparently, his friend did not want another confrontation right at the beginning – which was fine with him. He could keep his mouth shut if necessary. This was Calvin's fight… and Calvin's right to pick his battles.

Whether Dr. Weir had noticed their wordless exchange or not, he could not tell. The younger O'Neill opposite them most likely had, if the tolerant amusement in his hazel eyes was any indication. It was a strange thing, knowing that the mind and memories of an almost-sixty-year-old man inhabited that young body, Reid found, but at the very least he was not the only baby-face among the new expedition members. That helped a little, even if the soul behind that other baby-face was more than half a century old.

"I thought I'd make the first introductions, so that you'd at least know who's who," Dr. Weir continued. Strictly seen that would have been McKay's task, but he had obviously rolled it off to the expedition leader. "You'll have enough time to mingle and learn to know each other better during the eighteen-day-long journey about the _Daedalus_ later."

That, at least, was a sensible idea. Everyone agreed with he suggestion, and so she introduced the big, bald-headed Marine first as Colonel Stephen Caldwell, commanding officer of the _Daedalus_. The one, Reid remembered, who had an eye on Colonel Sheppard's position.

Well, if _that_ would not make a jolly good journey to the Pegasus galaxy! Caldwell seemed to be one of those no-nonsense, by-the-book military types who were born without a sense of humour… although, Reid added honestly, Colonel Dixon had made exactly the same impression at first sight and, according to Calvin, turned out anything but. Perhaps there was more to Caldwell, too, than what met the eye.

Dr. Weir went on to introduce the other newbies. There were many of them, and Reid soon lost track on the unknown names. Not that it truly mattered. He would learn the names later. There would be time enough.

There were a few of them he could mark at once, though. Like that exotic Indian beauty with the very English name, Dr. Bryce. Most likely the name of her husband, or else she was of mixed origins. Her given name was Nimet or something like that, and she seemed to be a sharp-minded person.

And then there was Dr. Optican: a small, bespectacled, hunchbacked man from Poland, with short-cropped, sandy hair and the uncanny resemblance to a sparrow. Both he and Bryce were engineers of some sort, which made sense, given the lots of Ancient technology the expedition had to deal with. Optican apparently had the gene, too.

Another person easily remembered was Dr. Lindsey Novak, a pointy-faced woman with her dark blond hair twisted into a tight bun, who served in the _Daedalus_' engineering department. Reid remembered having read her thesis about rocket propulsion systems – and the fact that she had nearly failed at the presentation of her PhD because of the acute case of hiccups she got whenever she was nervous or frightened. She seemed to have overcome that particular problem, even though she still had that permanent deer-in-the-headlights look about her.

As for the others, there were several oceanologists (which made sense, too, considering that they would live in a city that was floating on the ocean), a moderately well-known anthropologist (also necessary when making contact with so many new cultures all the time). The rest was made up of engineers (mostly), botanists and additional medical personnel.

"We also have a few expedition members who will be assigned multiple tasks," Dr. Weir added, coming to the end of the introductions. "Dr. Kavanagh will return to his previous work on propulsion systems as well as take over the chemistry lab. Since Major Lorne has requested you for his team, we thought we might give it a try. You've gone off-world with SG-13 before, after all."

Kavanagh pulled a face at her condescending tone but did not say anything. He was too happy to go off-world with Lorne's team from time to time.

"As for Dr. Reid," Dr. Weir continued, "you'll work with Dr. Kavanagh when not on a mission. I understand that you've done so in the past successfully. Additionally, you'll take over Dr. McKay's place in Colonel Sheppard's team. That way Dr. McKay can have more lab time for his science projects."

Reid shot Colonel Sheppard – who seemed less than enthusiastic about the idea – a nervous look. Having been assigned to a team leader who so obviously didn't want him on the team was not a promising prospect.

"If you think that's a good idea," he said. "I've never been off-world before."

"Oh, it's not such a big deal," McKay waved off his concerns impatiently. "Well, save from the getting shot at part, half the time. But you used to be an FBI agent, so that's probably nothing new for you."

"You seem to have a rather… romanticized idea about the life of an FBI agent," Reid answered dryly. "Most of the time, it's research – and trying to talk the unsub out of shooting at us."

"The _what_?" McKay glared at him suspiciously.

Reid grinned. "Sorry, profiler slang. It means unknown subject."

"Whatever," McKay made that impatient little flip with his hand again. "In any case, General O'Neill hammered the point home: you can fire a gun and hit your target, so you qualify. The important work is done in the labs anyway."

"Where _you_ will be working, of course," Reid said, amused.

McKay shrugged. "Well, if you're really the genius you're said to be, I might allow you to help Zelenka. That would save him from working with all the other morons."

"In case you've forgotten," Dr. Weir interfered, "you've already assigned Dr. O'Neill here to Dr. Zelenka's lab, Rodney."

McKay gave her an irritated look. "Do I look as stupid as the rest of my department, Elizabeth? _Of course_ I remember that! But he's a certified genius, which means – as you might have realized by now – that his brain is a lot more active than that of a common scientist. Have you ever seen _me_ working on one project only?"

"Yeah, but that's different," Kavanagh commented. "It means you're a control freak."

"No, it means that I'm surrounded by imbeciles and have to do just about everything by myself," McKay riposted, aiming a death glare at Kavanagh who did not seem the least bothered by it.

"Yeah, sure…"

"Wait a minute," O'Neill Jr interrupted before the squabbling could escalate beyond repair. "You really wanna put me in some kind of lab? Oh, for crying out loud, I'm not a…"

"Not a geek?" McKay finished for him. "Newsflash, young man: that's _exactly_ what you are now. If you wanted to step into the general's footprints, you should've joined the Air Force, too."

"Well, I'm still one of the best pilots you could hire," O'Neill returned indignantly. "And have the gene, too!"

"We're all aware of that, Dr. O'Neill," Dr. Weir said. "Which is why you've been assigned to Sergeant Stackhouse's team. They need a pilot, since they've just lost Sergeant Markham recently. I'm sure you'll get around with Stackhouse well enough."

"Sure," O'Neill calmed down quickly. "I remember him from the time when I was… when I visited my _uncle_ at the SGC. He's a good man, and an experienced one."

"That he is," Sheppard agreed. "And since you know each other already, there won't be any problems concerning your family connection to General O'Neill, I hope."

O'Neill gave him a long, even look.

"No, Colonel," he replied simply. "Had I wanted to use his name as a springboard, I _would_ have joined the military, as Dr. McKay so charmingly suggested."

"Nonetheless, you'll have to undergo gun qualifications," Sheppard said, glancing in Reid's direction. "All scientists will, especially those who're gonna off-world regularly."

"Don't worry, Colonel," O'Neill grinned. "My uncle and I might not have been close in the recent years, but he's seen to it that I learned how to use a Beretta. _And_ a P-90. _And_ several other weapons." His face turned grim, all of a sudden. "I guess we both wanted to avoid another tragedy like the one with Charlie."

"Who's Charlie?" Reid whispered to Kavanagh.

"I'll tell you later," his friend whispered back.

Their short conversation went unnoticed. After discussing a few more technicalities, Dr. Weir finally adjourned the meeting.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

On the next day Reid was called to the shooting range of the SGC, so that he could make his gun qualifications before the start. Aside from him, O'Neill and Kavanagh were scheduled for the same time slot. Dr. McKay had also come, most likely out of curiosity. Needless to say that neither Colonel Sheppard nor Colonel Caldwell wanted to miss the spectacle, and right before they would start, Major Lorne arrived, too.

"I know you can use a gun, doc," he said to Kavanagh," but I wanted to see for myself _how_ good you are at it. I might depend on your skills one day, so…"

Kavanagh nodded, apparently undisturbed by the large audience. "Fair enough," he said. "Now do I get a weapon any time soon?"

Sheppard and McKay produced identically raised eyebrows, but the sergeant on duty seemed completely immune about civilian bickering. He handed Kavanagh a 9mm with a nod of recognition; they most likely had known each other from earlier. Kavanagh nodded back, loaded the weapon and fired the entire clip directly into the centre of the paper target.

Major Lorne looked from the target to Kavanagh, then back again. "Impressive," he judged. "Where did you learn to shoot so well?"

Kavanagh shrugged. "Boys' survival camp," he replied. "Riflery team in college. Target practice with SG-13 during my years at the SGC. I never liked to be helpless. Besides, do you really think Colonel Dixon would have tolerated me on his team weren't I able to handle a gun?"

"Well, there's certainly that," Lorne admitted; then he turned to Reid. "Your turn, doc."

Reid felt unusually nervous when he accepted the gun from the sergeant. Granted, he had gotten much better at target practice in the recent years – he never again failed gun qualifications, for starters – but feeling the eyes of Colonels Sheppard and Caldwell boring holes into his back was _not_ helping. At least Major Lorne did not seem to dismiss him at first sight.

This was definitely one of those times when his geek chick image did not serve to his advantage. Suddenly he was very glad to have listened to Major Davis and at least gotten a more conservative haircut. Sure, young O'Neill's hair was even longer and much more… _avantgarde_ than his, but young O'Neill had the advantage of being who he was, which made all sorts of difference.

He loaded the weapon, aimed carefully and fired several shots into the target. Then he eyed the results with mild dismay. They were not bad, but below his usual level.

"It's because you've flinched," Kavanagh told him.

"I've _not_!" Reid protested.

"Sure you have," Kavanagh replied. "It's not surprising, really considering that you had two Colonels staring disapprovingly at your back. But you shouldn't let yourself be thrown off-kilter by the primitive intimidating techniques of the military. Here, let me help you."

Ignoring the death glares from both Sheppard and Caldwell, he stepped up behind Reid, bracing him with his body. Reid stiffened at the unexpected closeness and swallowed nervously. It would not do to react unseemingly to his friend's full body contact, _especially_ not while three military officers were watching them. But Kavanagh's touch was calm and professional, like that of someone used to help others to get their bearings. Like Morgan's had been while helping Reid with his target practice.

"Try now," Kavanagh said.

Still more than a little nervous, Reid fired several more shots, then lowered the weapon and looked at the narrow spread of bullets on the target, all placed in the centre of it.

"Okay," he admitted sheepishly. "I guess I _was_ flinching, after all." He glanced at Major Lorne nervously, while Kavanagh stepped away from him. "You think that will do, Major?"

"It would certainly do for me," Lorne shrugged, "although in your case it's Colonel Sheppard whose Amen you'll need. In any case, you're three hundred per cent better than Dr. McKay, so I don't see any problems with your qualification."

"Hey!" McKay protested indignantly. "I've been hired for my brains, not for my shooting skills…"

"…which are nonexistent," Lorne finished mercilessly. "Doc, I've seen you practicing, and believe me, you've got a lot more practice before you. The day might come when a well-aimed shot will be the only thing that can serve those precious brains of yours from being sucked dry by some malevolent alien – and I'm not speaking of the Wraith alone. Ever heard about human-form replicators? They'd simply put their hands into your skull – physically! – and take directly from your mind whatever they want… _unless_ you manage to shoot them to pieces first. I'd think about that during target practice."

"That's enough, Major," Sheppard interfered. "Are you trying to scare off our geeks or what?"

"No, sir," Lorne answered calmly. "Just sharing past experiences. I don't doubt that the Wraith are scary, but they're not the only threat out there."

"Thank you for the lecture, Major, but I think we all know _that_," Sheppard drawled.

Lorne looked at him seriously. "Do you, sir? By all due respect, you've never been off-world before Atlantis, and most of the other adversaries you met in the Pegasus galaxy were humans. I don't really think…"

"If the two of you could interrupt your military bonding ritual for just a moment, do you think that I could get with my gun qualification, too?" O'Neill interrupted them in a bored tone. "I'm not gonna get any younger here while you two try to decide which one has seen the scariest alien in the recent years."

Sheppard turned to him with an annoyed expression. "You're quite cheeky for a little geek whose diapers are still wet, doc," he drawled. "Let's see if your aim is as good as your mouth is big, shall we?"

O'Neill shrugged and held out his hand to the sergeant on duty, who gave him a Beretta and ammunition. The young man loaded the weapon and fired through an entire clip, while Caldwell, Sheppard and Lorne watched with narrowed eyes, checking his form. Somewhere in the middle of the process, Sheppard's jaw hit the floor, and he was not able to pick it up again till the end. Every single one of those shots would have been deadly.

O'Neill smirked and ejected the empty clip, slamming home a fresh one. He took a step to the side, where the next galley was, with a fresh target, and brought the pistol up, steadying it with his other hand, in the manner of a man who had been doing this longer than O'Neill had actually been alive.

"I don't want you to think I just happened to be lucky," he commented wryly, and methodically filled the centre of the target with fourteen shots, all perfectly within kill range.

"My… _uncle_ taught me never to let my enemy unfinished, or he'd come back to finish _me_," he added, putting the fifteenth shot through the head of the target with deadly precision. Then he turned to Sheppard, still smirking. "Happy now?"

"With your shooting skills – yes. With your attitude – not so much," Sheppard replied. "If you think you can get away with everything, just because you're the general's nephew, you're mistaken."

O'Neill gave him an infuriating smile. "Well, I'd say I qualified. Now I've got some packing to do. In the meantime, you might want to ask Dr. McKay here what a _secret de polichinelle_ is. As a Canadian, he probably knows enough French to explain it to you."

With that, he handed back the Beretta to the sergeant, winked the others and left.

Sheppard glared at McKay. "Well, Rodney? Care to enlighten me?"

McKay shrugged. "It's an old stage phrase. A _secret de polichinelle_ is a secret that everybody knows already, so no one thinks of telling you about it, assuming you're a newbie."

"And what does that have to do with O'Neill's nephew and me?" Sheppard asked impatiently.

"Not a thing I can think of, unless…" McKay trailed off, then his face suddenly broke into a huge, shit-eating grin. "Oh, no… you _really_ haven't been told…?"

"Rodney!" Sheppard said through gritted teeth. "_What_ have I not been told?"

"Why, the truth about young Dr. O'Neill, of course," McKay replied amiably, his grin reaching impossible proportions.

"What truth?" Sheppard asked. "That he's, in fact, an incapable fool pushed on us by his uncle? I'm beginning to actually believe _that_."

McKay shook his head. "No, no, no, Colonel, you misunderstood. It's like this: he isn't the _nephew_ of General O'Neill at all."

"So what _is_ he?" Sheppard asked. "O'Neill's illegitimate son?"

"No," McKay was still grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "In truth, he _is_ General O'Neill… well, up to four years ago, that is. Since then, he's led a very different kind of life, I'm told."

Sheppard stared at him with open-mouthed bafflement. "What do you mean he's General O'Neill? There can't be two of them, can there?"

McKay rolled his eyes and gave him a pitying look. "Ever heard of cloning, Colonel? You really ought to read older SGC reports. I suggest particularly the one from June 2006… unless you want to ask Hermiod, of course."

Sheppard shuddered demonstratively. "Thank you, but I've got my limits when it comes to deal with naked aliens."

"At least with naked _male_ ones," McKay commented acerbically. "_If_ Hermiod can be still considered as male, that is. As far as I know, the Asgard have been reproduced asexually for centuries… or longer. You're just disappointed that he's not a beautiful alien princess to fall in undying love with you, that's why you don't like him."

Sheppard rolled his eyes with exasperation. "For God's sake, Rodney! The only time I actually _had_ something with an alien wasn't even physical. Well… not much. Unless you consider being permeated by pure energy physical."

"Really?" McKay seemed genuinely surprised by that. "Well, apparently there's a lot to say about the good taste of alien princesses."

With that, he stormed off, his overactive mind already occupied with a dozen or so things that needed to be done before start. Sheppard stared after him in a rather… contemplative manner – if planning future murder and manslaughter could be considered contemplation.

"One of these days I'm really gonna shoot him," he said thoughtfully.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"How is it possible that Colonel Sheppard didn't know that O'Neill was a clone?" Reid asked, sitting on his overstuffed suitcase and making futile attempts to close it. "I mean, everyone _else_ here seems to know…"

Kavanagh looked briefly at the ceiling, as if asking higher powers he only contacted at times of extreme emergency to give him patience. How someone of Reid's intelligence and well-ordered mind could be so unorganized in practical things was beyond his understanding.

"Get off that suitcase," he said in a long-suffering tone. "You're worse than Liam when it comes to packing."

Reid shrugged. "I usually don't take anything else than my laptop and a change of clothes with me while travelling."

"I'm afraid that won't do here," Kavanagh snatched Reid's suitcase and turned it over, piling its contents on the couch. Then he began to re-pack it methodically, folding each item of clothing neatly. When he finished, the suitcase was only half full.

"That's how proper packing is done," he declared.

"So what if I'm a little messy?" Reid asked defensively. "I've managed well enough all my life, without anyone hovering over me like a mother hen."

"Yeah, but you most likely never had as little living space as you're gonna have aboard the _Daedalus_," Kavanagh replied patiently. "Or even in Atlantis, for that matter."

Reid frowned. "I thought the city was huge…?"

"It is," Kavanagh said, "but we only use a small percentage of it… mostly to save energy. Besides, we're gonna bunk together on the _Daedalus_, so we've got to store as much stuff in as small a place as humanly possible. Being ordered can be helpful with that."

Reid shook his head with a tolerant smile.

"I always knew there was a reason why they called you Mr. Anal Retentive at CalTech," he said.

Kavanagh shrugged. "I like a well-ordered environment. Is that a problem?"

"No," Reid laughed. "I just can see us bickering about what belongs where and whose turn it is to take out the garbage… like an old married couple."

"Actually," Kavanagh said, a rare smile softening his angular features, "I like that thought. Event he bickering part. Only people who're sure about themselves and each other can afford that."

Reid smiled back, his eyes very bright. "Yeah. Sounds nice, doesn't it. So, since we're obviously done with packing, what's next?"

"Nothing in particular, "Kavanagh replied. "A military van will come to take our stuff to the SGC later in the evening, but until then, we've got the house for ourselves. Dion has night shift at the hospital, Siobhan and the kids won't be coming back from the zoo for hours yet, and Patrick has his poker evening tonight."

"I thought they'd want to make a special farewell dinner or whatnot," Reid said.

Kavanagh shook his head. "Nah, we Kavanaghs aren't good at that sort of stuff. Teary good-byes, I mean. They'll stand up in time to see us off in the morning, but that's that, basically. It's better for the kids, too."

"I guess so," Reid said uncertainly, trying hard to imagine what it might be like for the two boys to let their father go for an unknown length of time… and failing. "What are we gonna do in all our loneliness, then?"

"I'm open to suggestions," Kavanagh replied. "Do you have any?"

Reid shrugged, blushing a little – and hating it. "Is cuddling on the garden bench an option? The fence is high enough to give us some privacy…"

"Depends," Kavanagh deadpanned, sliding his fingers into the younger man's thick, soft hair to gently massage his scalp.

"On what?" Reid leaned into his touch, having come to like this particular gesture of tenderness. It was… well, _safe_.

"Is kissing included into the programme?" Kavanagh inquired.

Reid blushed again and closed his eyes. "I… I could be persuaded," he whispered.

Kavanagh laughed and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Then you've got a deal."

They never came to discuss Colonel Sheppard's surprising lack of knowledge concerning Dr. O'Neill's identity that evening.

~TBC~


	6. Chapter 6

**The Road Not Taken**

**by Soledad**

**Disclaimer:** The characters and settings in this series belong to The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and Showtime. Only a couple of original characters belong to me.

**Author's note:**

This chapter describes the events of the 2nd season episode "Intruder" from a different point of view… among other things.

I don't know whether the _Daedalus_ has an auxiliary control room or not. I simply assumed that the place where several unlucky technicians ran the fatal computer diagnostics was something like that and borrowed the name for the room from Star Trek.

Also, I'm not entirely sure in which season the Asgard locator chip implant has been introduced – but since this is an AU anyway, I decided to allow them to have it already.

**Part 06**

The day of the start had finally come, and Reid was standing nervously in the embarkation room of the SGC, waiting to be beamed aboard the _Daedalus_. He rubbed his upper arm where the locator chip implant – a marvellous result of Asgard technology – had been injected, making an emergency beam-out possible. He knew that the technically highly advanced aliens had used transporter technology without problems for several millennia; still, the thought of being broken down into his base atoms, then being transported in the form of pure energy at near-light speed to his destination where he'd be reassembled again, made him anxious.

Sometimes having an analytic mind that enabled him to understand how many ways things could go wrong was truly a curse. Unfortunately, Calvin shared this particular trait… even if he seemed to find travelling via transporter a lot less questionable than Reid did.

On the other hand, Calvin had travelled via Stargate quite a few times, too. He'd had years to get used to this kind of thing. Being deconstructed for the first time in one's life was… intimidating. Quite frankly, it scared the shit out of him.

He looked with ill-concealed envy at young Dr. O'Neill, who'd gained the sloppy nickname Junior among SGC personnel, and who was just sauntering into the embarkation room leisurely. He had two carry-alls and a backpack, which presumably contained just about everything a young man of his age might need for a one-year-trip to a foreign galaxy – assuming said young man had the memories of a middle-aged Air Force officer and knew how to pack efficiently, without burdening him with unnecessary stuff.

He gave the clearly mortified Reid a tolerantly amused look and grinned at him encouragingly.

"No need to worry, doc. The Asgard transporter is absolutely safe… and I'm the person who can assure you about that. I've been beamed up and down more than all the others counted together." He didn't add in which body he had been when that happened. There was no need for that. "You won't feel a thing, really."

"I know _that_," Reid answered, annoyed with his own ridiculous reaction. "Unfortunately, I also know what happens when one is transported. The image isn't exactly… encouraging."

O'Neill Jr's grin grew in width. "One reason why my… _uncle_ chose to remain in blissful ignorance," he said.

"Don't believe him," Kavanagh said to Reid. "General O'Neill is an intelligent man. He might not be a scientist, but he's got a fair general understanding of the tech he has to work with. And what's even more important, he knows when to have the scientists alone to do their jobs… unlike other officers whom we won't name here," he added, shooting Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard, who had just arrived in the company of Dr. Weir, a displeased look.

"Which shows that we aren't as similar as people might think," O'Neill Jr replied brightly. "I couldn't do _that_. I just _need_ to stick my nose into things and figure out what makes them tick."

"Oh, you _are_ similar enough all right," Reid said, grateful for the distraction. "You just got something very few people get: a second chance."

"I'd rather call it the road not taken," O'Neill Jr answered, "but basically, you're right, of course. We're very fortunate. Few people can say they could have their cake _and_ eat it. He's got his military career and I've got my scientific one – but we both get a piece from what the other one has chosen, too."

The other newbies slowly filed in, showing various degrees of nervous anticipation. The Gate technician checked something with the transporter operator of the _Daedalus_, and one by one, people were enveloped in a pale golden beam of light and simply vanished. When his turn came, Reid tried very hard _not_ to panic, but with very little success. His overactive mind simply supplied him with too many horrid images about possible transporter accidents. To be honest, he was close to bolting in the last moment.

But then Calvin, ignoring the baffled looks of their colleagues and the snickering of the Marines waiting for their turn, reached out and took Reid's hand, the way he'd take the hand of his own sons when they were frightened. Reid was startled at first, especially in front of everyone, but then he accepted the help gratefully. He even stopped hyperventilating as he entwined his fingers with Calvin's. The calm, firm hold his friend… colleague… lover had on him was really soothing.

Kavanagh looked at the Gate technician.

"We are ready," he said simply, and in the next moment the transporter beam took them.

* * *

They rematerialized on board the _Daedalus_, still holding hands, Reid still chalk white and slightly shaking. Kavanagh was demonstratively slow to untangle their fingers, ignoring the smirks around them, and looking into Reid's still dilated eyes in concern.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked. "Don't panic; you'll get used to it, given enough time."

"Let's hope so," Colonel Sheppard commented snidely. "It's bad enough that Zelenka is afraid of Gate travel; having someone on my team who's scared witless of beaming would slow us down considerably."

"He's not scared _witless_," Kavanagh sneered. "On the contrary. He's scared because – unlike most people here – he actually _understands_ what happens during the process. We scientists usually don't have the dubious advantage of being thick-headed."

"As much as it pains me, I must agree with Kavanagh in this," McKay said before Sheppard could have exploded into Kavanagh's face. "Now, can we stop this infantile squabbling and move on? I'd like to have an orientation meeting for my geeks, and I'm sure Colonel Caldwell would prefer to leave orbit some time before the next millennium."

The level of sarcasm in his voice revealed that his irritation had already reached third grade, and everyone who'd ever worked for the SGC, be it geek or jarhead, knew that a third-grade irritation on the McKay scale could easily lead to endless tirades, describing their idiocy in loving and opulent detail. Like every good scientist, Atlantis' head geek was nothing if not thorough. Therefore the instinct of self-preservation quickly moved people out of his way, and the new expedition members were taken aboard and put away in their assigned quarters in record time.

Quarters were shared aboard the _Daedalus_, due to the number of people that needed to be transported to the Pegasus galaxy. Logically, Kavanagh and Reid were assigned to the same room, with O'Neill Jr and a friendly, dark-skinned technician named Lindstrom as their immediate neighbours.

"You realise, of course, that there's gonna be talk," Reid said, after they'd done some minor unpacking; just what they'd need for the rest of the day, and some toiletries.

Calvin shrugged. "Let them talk… or could that cause you problems with the FBI?"

Reid shook his head. "No; it's just not anyone's business."

"They'd have found out sooner or later anymore," Calvin replied with another shrug. "Atlantis is a small, closed community, full of busybodies… and there's very little entertainment aside from gossip. They'll get used to us. As long as we're discreet, nobody will care – after the first couple of days."

"What you just did wasn't exactly _discreet_," Reid pointed out.

Calvin nodded. "I know. I wouldn't have done it; not so soon… not for quite a while yet, were you not panicking."

"I'm sorry…"

"Don't be. At least it's out in the open now; and people will have eighteen days to get used to us being… well, whatever we are… before we get to Atlantis."

* * *

As it turned out, they'd both been right. People _did_ get used to see them together, especially as they remained very discreet fort he duration of the journey and didn't flaunt their closeness into anybody's face. And there _was_ talk, of course. Two long-haired male geeks, sharing a room – and who knew what else – inspired the fantasy of the Marines to new lows. So it wasn't surprising at all that by about two weeks after the _Daedalus_ had broken Earth's orbit, everyone on board knew that Dr. Kavanagh and "that geek chick from the FBI" were more than just friends.

"I wonder how they manage to do the dirty," Stevens, one of the newly reassigned Marines, said in the mess hall, just loudly enough that Reid, who was studying something on his laptop while sipping his coffee at a nearby table, couldn't help but overhear. "I mean, they're all elbows and knees, both of them… it oughta be fucking uncomfortable…"

The others snickered, failing to notice Major Lorne, who'd just entered the mess hall and approached them with the promise of black thunder on his otherwise so open and friendly face. He didn't like at all if assholes like Stevens spoke ill of people who had more intelligence under their fingernail than a dozen jarheads counted together. Still, he chose not to interfere just yet. He wanted to see how Reid would deal with the situation.

Reid looked up from his work, completely unfazed.

"You might have a problem imagining it, Private," he reaffirmed himself of Stevens' rank with a quick flicker of an eye, "but it isn't always about sexual acrobatics. Some of us actually enjoy _talking_ when spending time together. Of course," he added dryly, "that would require the basic ability of coherent speech to begin with."

Stevens had already half-risen from his seat, his face and short, thick neck red with anger… but dropped back again as Lorne's hand gripped his forearm with steely strength.

"Stop it, Private," Lorne ordered, his voice deadly calm.

This was his command voice, developed after having faced the Unas on P3X-403. A voice that could make the biggest, beefiest, most spectacularly drunk Marine shake in his boots with fair. Which, considering that Lorne was an Air Force officer, seen as a cocky flyboy by every self-respecting Marine, was no small feat.

"Let me tell you a thing I've learned about Atlantis, Private," he continued, still in that low, terribly calm voice. "It's very different from the SGC. Atlantis is Earth's only outpost in the Pegasus galaxy; the only thing that stands between the Wraith and Earth. And, unlike at the SGC, on Atlantis _everything_ depends on the geeks. Because they're the ones who _understand_ Ancient tech and can make it work, with or without the ATA gene. Can you follow me so far?"

Stevens nodded, with his mouth literally hanging open. Reid was secretly amazed how thoroughly Lorne was able to intimidate these tough, gung-ho Marines, even though he was a head shorter than every single one of them. Air Force officers didn't need to be big and burly. They were supposed to become pilots, after all, and being of average stature was actually an advantage in tight little cockpits.

Lorne nodded, too, slowly, deliberately.

"Very well. Now, let us summarize the basic facts for the lot of you in a few easy sentences. Atlantis protects Earth. The geeks protect Atlantis. And _we_… we protect the geeks, by any means necessary. If it means to die to save them, we'll do so. If it means to ride the whole city of everything even vaguely reminiscent of citrus, so that Dr. McKay wouldn't accidentally eat something he's deadly allergic to, we'll do it, too. Are you still following me, men?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" the Marines chorused.

"Good," Lorne said. "Furthermore, as long as they're doing their jobs, their private life is _not_ our concern. Whether they hold hands in the moonlight and recite bad poetry or fuck sheep on the mainland – or whatever counts as sheep in the Pegasus galaxy – we won't interfere. We won't bother them in any way, we won't harass them, and we'll never, under any circumstances bully them. Have I made myself clear?"

"Sir, yes, Major Lorne, sir!" the Marines replied crisply as one man.

Lorne glanced at his watch. "Pleased to hear that. Now, if I'm not mistaken you're all scheduled for unarmed combat practice in ten minutes. Eat up and get out of here to spend your energies in a more… useful way. Preferably yesterday."

The Marines obeyed in record time, and Reid looked up at Lorne in mild exasperation. "Was that truly necessary, Major?"

Lorne grinned, looking impossibly young all of a sudden. "Sure it was. Marines need to be yelled at by their commanding officers on a regular basis, to know that they're cared for. It gives them the illusion of safety."

"An illusion?" Reid repeated, arching an inquisitive eyebrow.

Lorne nodded, his face grim and bleak again. "There's no true safety, doc, in either of our two galaxies. The sooner you realise that, the longer will you live."

In that moment, Reid's headset came alive with the tense voice of Dr. McKay. "Reid? I need you in the auxiliary control room. There's been an accident."

"I'm coming with you," Lorne offered, and Reid saw no reason to refuse. An _accident_ didn't sound promising. The _Daedalus_ was a ship well beyond her shakedown cruise, there shouldn't have been any nasty surprises.

Reid's suspicious mind suggested sabotage. He just couldn't think of anyone who'd benefit from such an act.

* * *

When they reached their destination, they found Dr. Beckett, the chief medical officer of the expedition, bending over a man lying on the floor. Dr. Weir and Colonel Sheppard were already there, as was McKay, sitting at a nearby console and giving the diagnostic screen an unhappy frown. Colonel Caldwell arrived at the same time as Reid.

Reid recognised the dead man on the floor with a shock. It was Dr, Monroe, one of the newly-hired engineers – and a fairly young one at that.

"What happened?" he asked, his trained eye already searching for any possible evidence but found none. Not yet, anyway.

Dr, Beckett shrugged and waved in the waiting medical team with the gurney. "I cannae tell just yet… but he's dead, for sure. Poor lad, hasn't even made into the Pegasus galaxy. A real shame, it is."

The medics zipped the poor man into a body bag, and Dr. Beckett helped them to lift it onto the gurney. "All right, lads, take him to the morgue. I'll be with you shortly."

Colonel Caldwell stepped aside to make room for the medics, his big, bald forehead creased into a frown.

"How did he die?" he asked.

Dr. Beckett shrugged, every bit as unhappy with the fact as the Colonel was. "I'm not a hundred per cent certain, but there were burn marks on his fingertips."

Sheppard shrugged, too, already dismissing the whole problem. "Well, obviously, there was a shortcut. Door's open, circuits are charred… sad, but it happens."

Colonel Caldwell, however, didn't seem quite that convinced. "Is there enough juice in those circuits to kill anyone?"

"No," Reid answered promptly, although Caldwell had probably aimed the question at McKay. "Not according to the official blueprints of the _Daedalus_, that is. The most harm a shortcut should be able to cause would be a slight stinging in the fingertips; yet apparently, here happened something a lot more serious."

"Apparently," Caldwell agreed dryly, then he looked at Beckett. "Well, doctor…?"

Beckett sighed. "I'll know more once I've had the chance to examine the body more thoroughly."

"I'd like to see any evidence you may find," Reid said.

"You'll get it," Beckett replied tiredly and left.

Dr. Weir looked at McKay who was working furiously at the nearby console. "Rodney, do you know what Dr. Monroe was working on?"

"It was computer diagnostics, strictly routine," McKay replied with a frown. "It shouldn't have caused any problems. Reid, do we have security camera footage?"

Reid walked around the console and called up the footage on another monitor. The others gathered around to watch it. They could see Dr. Monroe sitting at the same console, then getting up to work on another part. He reached over to touch a panel… then the footage went static.

"What happened there?" Dr. Weir asked.

Reid shrugged, his eyes narrowing. "I don't know… but I don't like it."

"It could be a camera malfunction, of course…" McKay began.

"Right before the man was killed?" Sheppard asked. "Interesting coincidence."

"Certainly _not_ a coincidence," Reid corrected. "Especially considering the fact that there isn't enough power running through these circuits to kill someone."

"At least not normally," McKay added, thinking furiously. One could almost see the little cogwheels whirling in his head. "However…"

Dr. Weir looked at them, a little confused. "What are you thinking?"

"It _is_ possible that there was some sort of isolated power surge in this section," McKay began.

"… which would explain the lost camera," Reid added, getting the direction of the other man's thinking.

"… _and_ the malfunctioning door," McKay continued.

"So, when the door didn't respond, Dr. Monroe took out the panel to bypass the circuits," Reid suggested.

"… and received a fatal jolt," McKay finished.

Dr. Weir and Sheppard exchanged blank looks.

"It's almost as bad as with Zelenka," Sheppard commented.

"Ha, bloody ha!" McKay snapped at him. You shouldn't be so envious, just because I've finally found someone who's _almost_ up to understanding me. In fact, you should be grateful to have _two_ genius-level scientists on board instead of one. With Reid's help, I'll only need half the time to run a full diagnostic on the power distribution system."

"I thought we'd have to drop out of hyperspace to dot hat," Colonel Caldwell said with a frown. He was a man who seemed to frown quite frequently. His entire facial structure was adjusted to it.

"Which is exactly what I was just about to suggest," McKay replied.

Caldwell shook his head. "No, Doctor. If we drop out, we risk being detected."

"True, true," McKay admitted impatiently. "I still think we should…"

"No," Caldwell interrupted. "We'll be back in Atlantis in less than two days. You can do you diagnostic then."

Dr. Weir gave the colonel an unhappy look. "Colonel, are you sure that's right?"

"With all due respect, Doctor," Caldwell replied through gritted teeth but with impressive self-discipline, "you got back to Earth through the Stargate. This is my third trip on the _Daedalus_ between galaxies; I know my ship well enough. Certainly better than _you_ do."

"I understand that, but this ship is relatively new," Dr. Weir argued. "There might be some problems…" she looked at McKay, as if expecting him to provide her with the necessary data, but the head scientist just shrugged and kept staring at his screen unhappily.

"Theoretically, there shouldn't," he said. "There weren't any problems during the previous two trips; not even during battle."

"That doesn't mean there couldn't be any hidden problems," Dr. Weir insisted. "Perhaps…"

"Doctor," Caldwell interrupted with forced patience. "A word, please?"

He gestured her to step outside the room. She followed him outside. Barely on the corridor, they obviously started arguing again, although the others in the auxiliary control room couldn't hear a word of it.

"It seems that Colonel Caldwell is still unhappy about _not_ getting my job," Sheppard commented dryly.

"He might not be the only one," Lorne warned him. "If I were you, sir, I'd be very careful."

"I'm _always_ careful," Sheppard replied, which made McKay roll his eyes in exasperation.

"Yeah, and snowballs have a real chance in hell, Major. Now if you and your fearless second-in-command here don't mind, Reid and I have work to do. A _lot_ of work. Preferably undisturbed. So, could the two of you just, you know, go somewhere else and do… whatever manly things you do when you actually don't have anything to do?"

For a moment, both officers went glassy-eyed, trying to figure out whether they'd been truly insulted or McKay had just been… well, McKay. Then Sheppard wisely grabbed Lorne by the elbow and dragged him out of the room. In this mood, McKay was better avoided.

* * *

McKay glared at their backs until they were safely out of the door.

"Good," he finally said. "I thought they'd never leave. Sometimes Sheppard is bloody hard to get rid of. Now we can finally do some serious checking."

"What do you want _me_ to do?" Reid asked, knowing that McKay was more than capable of doing a full system check by himself.

"Not for running some routine computer diagnostics, obviously," McKay replied as if he'd read Reid's mind. "I could do _that_ alone… in my sleep, actually. But you're a trained FBI agent, used to find suspicious things. It's that mindset what I need right now."

"I can give it a try," Reid said, slightly doubtfully. "How do you wanna do this?"

"Help me check the power distribution log against the time code on the security camera," McKay suggested. "That way we'll see if there's any connection at all."

"Sounds plausible," Reid agreed and took the other seat."

They worked in silence for a couple of moments. Then Reid discovered something on his control screen.

"Look at this," he said. "There _was_ an unexpected energy spike."

McKay glanced up from his own screen. "What time?" he asked.

"Fifteen-thirty-five and forty seconds," Reid tuned his screen, so that McKay could see it as well. McKay frowned.

"Well, that's… bad," he said.

Now it was Reid's turn to frown. "Why?"

"Because if the power distribution logs are recording correctly, this energy spike happened thirty seconds _after_ the camera went off," McKay replied grimly.

"Which means, the malfunctions in the door and the camera were _not_ caused by the same problem," Reid said slowly. "The colonel was right… that would be too much of a coincidence."

McKay stared at him in confusion. "When did Caldwell say _that_?"

"Not Colonel Caldwell," Reid answered patiently. "Colonel Sheppard."

McKay blinked several times. "Uh, right. Oh, that's gonna take some getting used to."

"So, do you think Dr. Monroe's death might _not_ have been an accident, after all?" Reid asked, trying to steer him back to the actual topic. "Might it have been sabotage?"

"I don't know," McKay said. "But there's something else. It looks like Monroe was in the process of enabling the Wildfire Protocol."

"The what?" Reid checked his memory but found nothing useful under that name. In fact, he was sure he'd never heard it before.

"Computer security protocols designed to isolate and shut down corrupted programmes," McKay explained. "They're Zelenka's design, and usually work like a charm."

Reid's mind raced. "What programmes are we talking about?"

"I don't _know_!" McKay was almost in tears with frustration. "That's just it – Monroe was killed before he could finish."

"Does this mean there's something wrong with the ship and someone's killed Dr. Monroe to cover it?" Reid asked. "You realise, of course, that it sounds like really bad sci-fi, don't you?"

McKay shrugged. "I know. But there's definitely more going on than just random malfunctions."

"In that case, you'll have to talk to Colonel Caldwell," Reid said. "If we've been attacked by a Trojan, all systems might be infected already. We'll _have_ to drop out of hyperspace and run that full system check."

"And won't the colonel just _love_ that?" McKay muttered unhappily. But he _did_ go to speak to Caldwell nonetheless.

Left alone in the auxiliary control room, Reid suddenly had the same eerie feeling he'd usually got in the past when he'd known the unsub was watching the team on a crime scene. Considering that the small room was utterly empty and there were no shadowy corners where as much as a mouse could have been hiding, it was a ridiculous thing – and yet it made his skin crawl.

He didn't ignore the feeling. Gideon had taught him to listen to his instincts because they could save his life one day, and those instincts were now screaming at him to get out of here as soon as possible.

In a sudden rush of panic, he jumped to his feet and stormed, before the malfunctioning door would trap him inside.

Once in the corridor, he risked a glance back. The room was every bit as empty and dead as it had been only moments ago. And yet he couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched.

* * *

He activated his headset to check on Calvin and found him in Engineering, working with Dr. Nowak and Hermiod. He decided to join them down there. The fragile, puppet-like alien had fascinated him from the first moment on, and Hermiod didn't seem to mind his presence – as long as he was quiet and left him alone. The Asgard preferred to work in a state of tranquillity very few humans could hope to achieve… least of all Dr. McKay, whose elements were, without any doubt, hectic and chaos.

"Oh, Reid, good," he said absently. "Come in and help us with this thing here."

Already used to McKay's very specific vernacular, Reid made an educated guess of what was expected of him and joined Calvin, who was already running some diagnostics. Hermiod, on the other hand, still seemed to be equally annoyed and confused by the peculiar McKayisms.

"If I may be so bold, what exactly _are_ we looking for?" he asked dryly. It was a dryness that could have put the High Gobi Desert to shame; especially if one added the sight of Hermiod's huge eyes closing for a moment in utter frustration.

"Any indication that somebody's been tampering with the ship's computers," McKay replied absently, his overactive mind already occupied with four or five potential scenarios.

Hermiod sighed and muttered to himself in Asgard. They couldn't understand the words, of course, but the very cadence clearly revealed his opinion of McKay.

"My thoughts exactly," Kavanagh agreed, which caused McKay to turn around and glare daggers at him.

"What was _that_?" he demanded.

"Nothing," Hermiod said with a finality in his scratchy voice that told everyone that he wouldn't disclose the meaning of his words.

"He just called you an asshole, I think," Kavanagh said with a smirk. McKay rolled his eyes and ignored him.

"Look," he said to Hermiod," Just check the major systems: propulsion, navigation, life support. Look for anything out of ordinary. Reid will do the same; he has an eye for that sort of thing."

"And what exactly do you hope to find?" Hermiod inquired in the manner of a long-suffering college professor.

"I'm not sure," McKay admitted, "but once we've checked out the power distribution system, maybe we can figure out what caused that power spike."

"Or so you hope," Kavanagh commented wryly.

"Yes, I do!" McKay glared daggers at him again. "In the interest of us all – or else we're gonna have an even bigger problem."

"Too big for someone who's supposedly the smartest man in two galaxies?" Kavanagh sneered.

Reid rolled his eyes. "Calvin. Stop baiting him. Right now, we have more important things to do."

Neither Kavanagh, nor McKay showed much willingness to stop their private little bitch-fest; fortunately, Colonel Sheppard walked in at that very moment.

"How's it going, guys?" he asked with a clear undertone of impatience in his voice.

"It is going to take a while," Hermiod replied tersely. That earned him a suspicious look from Sheppard – until McKay walked over and elbowed the newly promoted colonel in the ribs.

"Don't stare!" he hissed. "He hates it when people stare."

Sheppard gave their head geek a queer look. "Am I the only one who thinks it's strange we're working with an alien?" he asked.

"Yes," Reid and Kavanagh replied in unison.

"Intergalactic hyperdrive technology is kind of new to us," McKay added. "So we need his help."

Sheppard glanced at Hermiod again. "But why does he have to be naked in order to help us?" he whispered to McKay.

Unfortunately for him, Kavanagh had good ears.

"Would it still bother you if he were a beautiful, nubile alien princess, Sheppard?" he asked. "Or are you only queasy because he's a _male_ alien?"

"Shut up, Kavanagh!" Sheppard scowled.

McKay rolled his eyes, then decided to do some damage control. He looked across to a technician who was working nearby. "Lindstrom, Kavanagh, you with me. Reid, try to keep Hermiod and the colonel from each other's throats."

"I'll try my best," Reid promised, taking over Kavanagh's place and giving Dr. Novak a nervous smile. She smiled back… and hiccupped, revealing her inner tension.

With another eyeroll, McKay left, taking Kavanagh and the technician who happened to be their cabin neighbour with him. Sheppard looked round at Hermiod again, who scowled back at him.

"Colonel, if you don't mind we've got a lot of work to do here," Reid said, because Dr. Novak would never dare, and they _really_ needed to hurry up. Sheppard raised both hands in defeat.

"I'm going, I'm going…" and then he left indeed.

Hermiod was muttering to himself in Asgard again. Reid found it oddly charming, although he could see that the little alien was truly annoyed.

"Well, then," he said to Dr. Novak. "Shall we?"

Dr. Novak nodded and hiccupped. It was sort of cute, actually – especially if one knew what a brilliant mind was hidden behind the awkward personality traits.

"Yep, definitely," she said between hiccups. "There's something… hick… very odd here… hick… I've been working… hick… on board since this ship… hick… was built… hick… and we never… hick… had any problems like this… hick… We must find the reason… hick… and soon…

Reid nodded in agreement, and they continued to work in companionable silence, broken only by Hermiod's muttering.

~TBC~


End file.
